


in which shitty tv porn has all the answers

by seravphim



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras and Cosette Fauchelevent are Siblings, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Very Very Light Angst, angst if you squint hard enough, everybody laughs when theyre nervous... everyone has a laughing problem, not a fantine/valjean shipper but i would like them to parent cosette lol, this is not smutty despite the title dw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seravphim/pseuds/seravphim
Summary: “What am I supposed to do?”Grantaire bites his lip. “I mean… nothing? Like, we do nothing. We just nurture these elementary-school type crushes until the day we die and maybe we leave a love letter in our death and that's it, probably. We just don't do anything. There's nothing to do about it.”Eponine seems unfulfilled by the way her eyes narrow at the ceiling. “I donotaccept that.”// (Cosette and Enjolras are siblings, Eponine and Grantaire are each others wingmen, Marius is slowly realizing he's the only straight person in the room, nobody is cool, calm,orcollected, and you should always steal pick-up lines from porn.)
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Fantine & Jean Valjean, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 151





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi folks! this fic has already been completely written and edited, so I plan on updating everyday :^) enjoy!

It was with perfect timing that Eponine joined her university's on-campus activist group, Les Amis (or, awful timing, depending on how you looked at it). During her sophomore year of college, she left her night shift at the dive down the street from her house (her parents house, really, but they’re never there, anyway). Actually, she was fired for sneaking unsold food home to Gavroche, but Eponine doesn't like the negative connotations of _fired._ With nothing better to do, she tagged along with Grantaire one night, and has attended every meeting since. She's polite enough, by Grantaires standards, and usually just does her homework in the back and occasionally makes the remark that _“None of you people actually talk to poor people, do you?”_ which always makes Combeferre laugh. But sometimes she finds herself in a long, passionate rant about food scarcity or child services and makes a point to take a deep breath and mutter _whatever_ because Eponine is calm, cool, and collected. Caring that much is for suckers. 

She knows which harsh look to challenge the Amis with when she shows up late to a meeting. She always pays for food in cash. More often than not she shows up with black half-moons beneath her eyes. Everyone learns not to underestimate her.

She makes unlikely friends with Marius, who she thinks is cute like how one might think a three-legged dog is cute, and who lets her keep the extra change when he gives her money for the bus ride home (not that she ever plans on giving it back either way). When Courf asks why Eponine is friends with Marius of all people, Grantaire tells him its because Marius seems very innocent and Eponine likes to teach him about _sex_ and _drugs_ and _rock and roll._ Really, Eponine just likes the way Marius’ face contorts when she mentions something that makes his polished little head roll. Like late night cable TV. Or abortion, whatever.

It was perfect timing (or, again, awful timing), because Enjolras’ little step sister decided to join Les Amis at the same time - “She wants to be more _participant_ in her second year of college, is what she said,” Enjolras scoffed while pulling up an extra chair to their little corner in the Cafe Musain. Grantaire asked him why a higher member count annoyed him so much, which earned him a pointed look that Grantaire tried to relish as long as he could. Secretly, Grantaire believed any attention was good attention, so long as it came from Enjolras. He had made the executive decision years ago that he would just have to settle with being hopelessly in love with him until the end of time and take whatever scraps he could get. _Some people call that discipline, probably,_ he thinks, _But I don't know why you would discipline yourself for anyone else. Whatever._ He helped Enjolras set up more chairs, which neither of them mentioned. 

When Cosette arrives it's like an angel has graced them with her presence. She looks nothing like Enjolras - curly brown hair and dark skin and all soft lines. But they share a similar elegant beauty - if Enjolras is a statue, then Cosette is a watercolor painting. 

Cosette is _pretty,_ really, truly pretty in a classic way, all glowing skin and twinkling eyes and slender fingers. The kind of pretty that you don't really notice until she gives you one of those full, earnest smiles, and you can't really look away or blink because you’re scared you’ll miss it. Eponine is uncharacteristically shy around her, but is always looking at her in her periphery. Grantaire, king of lonely hearts, knows where this is going. He braces himself. 

Naturally, Marius falls in love at first sight. Nobody is surprised. Well, except for Enjolras, who only laughs when Courfeyrac complains that Marius won't shut up about how softly Cosette's hair falls over her shoulders (in this moment, Grantaire, who has had to put up with a month of Eponine's pining, has never related to him more). Enjolras gives Marius an amused look - not that of a protective brother, but of someone who knows just a little more than he’s letting on. Enjolras has never been particularly conniving - at least not in the way Grantaire or Eponine are conniving - but for once he allows some light chaos to unfold.

Because of course Marius falls in love with her - pretty, kind Marius, who is blissfully unaware what it means when Cosette asks Jehan if he has a copy of Sappho's fragments. (Not that Eponine is any smarter, or allows herself to be any smarter about these things, whatever.) 

But Cosette likes to be kind, and she really does like Marius - she’s defensive of him like how a child might be defensive of their pet rock - so things get awkward when Marius nervously asks her to a fancy brunch at some fancy restaurant, and Cosette, wide-eyed and scared, can only respond, “Like, as a friend?” And Marius is immediately holding back heart wrenching sobs. Cosette doesn’t really know what to do about this, except put her hand on his shoulder, which only makes the tears Marius tries so hard to hold in spill out.

“No, Marius, honey, I - uh, Im.” Cosette awkwardly trips over her words, for the first time not completely graceful, but Eponine will remember the way the blush spreads over her face for the rest of eternity. Cosette bites her lip, thinking, and god, Eponine is in hell. She excuses herself because she really just _cannot_ handle dorky, embarrassed Cosette right now. It was a long shift at the fast food joint and she’s tired and she doesn’t deserve to be tortured like this. Thus, Eponine misses when Cosette finally squeaks out, “Marius, I’m a uh, kind of uh, a lesbian.” 

It is here that the beginning of the end begins.

Enjolras lets out the most triumphant, genuine laugh Grantaire has ever heard come from him (what he would give to pull that laugh from his lips!), and at this Grantaire can't help but join him, until Marius is beet-red and Cosette is running a hand through her hair ( _thank god,_ Grantaire thinks, _Eponine’s not here to see this)._

The meeting goes on, except an embarrassed Marius leaves shortly after the incident, and Cosette is left alone at her usual table. Grantaire, feeling sort of bad for her, decides to sit with her. _God, she_ is _pretty,_ Grantaire thinks, and even though Cosette and Enjolras aren't biologically related Grantaire can't help but wonder how hot their parents must be to have kids so angelic. At this new table, Grantaire has a dangerous view of Enjolras’ back, who sits just one table over, and still occasionally breaks into quiet fits of laughter. Grantaire feels a lightness in his chest, watching him, his curls bouncing every time he lets out a chuckle, the way the nape of his neck tilts when he throws his head back. He’s close enough that Grantaire could reach past Cosette and tug on his curls if he wanted to. He really wants to.

Instead, he turns to Cosette. “Your brother is _very_ amused,” he starts. “I don't think I’ve ever seen him laugh like that.”

She looks relieved to have the attention off of her recent mortifying coming-out. “Grantaire, right? I don't think we’ve ever actually spoken.”

He nods. “Well, I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, hoping she takes that to mean that Enjolras talks about her sometimes and not that Eponine is obviously, clearly enamored with her and won't shut up about it. “For example, your name is Cosette. You’re Enjolras’ sister. That's tons, actually - I think I could write your biography.” 

If she thinks his joke is funny, she is very good at hiding it. “I've actually heard a lot about you too.”

Grantaire hopes she doesn't notice his smile falter. His thumb, tracing the grooves in the wooden table, suddenly stops. Cosette is friends with Eponine. And Marius. And probably other people who know my name, he reminds himself. _That is most definitely where she heard my name._

“Enjolras talks about you sometimes.”

Grantaire is sure she has noticed his smile falter. _What?_

“Only the worst, I suppose,” he jokes, except it’s not really a joke because Enjolras probably does only mention the worst facets of Grantaire. He takes a swig of his wine - it seems it will be a long night. Cosette just makes a humming sound and does something like suppress a grin (although Grantaire couldn’t imagine why), and diverts the conversation to whatever band happens to be on Grantaire's shirt that evening, until Enjolras finally gets his wits about him and starts the meeting. He gets up from his chair, turns around and gives Cosette a brotherly “Quiet, ugly,” and then a lingering look at Grantaire that he swears he’s never gotten. Enjolras, for one heavenly night, has his guard down. Tonight will be long, maybe, but not totally unbearable. 

“I think that was aimed at me, actually,” Grantaire whispers to Cosette, who rolls her eyes but allows a short laugh to escape her. Grantaire tries not to make eye contact with Enjolras for the rest of the night, so he doesn't notice Enjolras also trying not to make eye contact with Grantaire for the rest of the night. 

A long time goes by before anyone thinks to tell Eponine what she missed. Grantaire doesn’t really remember the whole Marius-Cosette fiasco because when he thinks of that night the sound of Enjolras’ stupid, earnest laugh rings through his head and that lingering look haunts him and he begins to imagine scenarios in which Enjolras would mention his name and he has to bite his knuckles in order to stop from melting. No one else noticed Eponine slipping out of the cafe in the midst of all the chaos, so when the next meeting rolls around, no one gives her a quick update on everything she missed, like we’re writing a formal complaint to our governor or _we’re trying to get admitted into a conference_ or _the girl youve been crushing on for months is actually gay._

Soon enough, Cosette and her kind soul slip back into her usual friendship with Marius and Eponine learns to pretend not to be enamored by every aspect of Cosette’s wonderful existence, and they’re suddenly the three amigos, Cosette fixing Marius’ tie and Eponine licking her thumb to wipe away some dirt on his face. Marius is, as usual, blissfully unaware of how weird things are going to get for him in the coming months.

One night, weeks later, when Cosette and Enjolras visit Fantine and Valjean for a family movie night and Grantaire has to attend an art class, Eponine and Marius hit the town. Marius doesn't usually _hit the town_ as much as he kind of lightly taps it or respectfully touches it. He lets Eponine drag him places, though, because she ends up telling him some wild story that's usually at least 30% true. Figuring out where to go is always a compromise, though. She thinks it's fun to get plastered - he doesn't. Eventually they settle on some club with live music where Eponine can drink and Marius, the lightweight that he is, can sip a fancy mocktail. 

Eponines not sure why she asks him, “Fallen in love with anyone recently, loverboy?” because Marius gets very sad very quickly. She wrinkles her nose - she knows she’s never been the most considerate person, but jeez. 

“Shit, sorry, I guess you’re still, you know,” Eponine starts, and Marius shakes his head.

“‘S fine, really, I don't really mind so much - it was just like, like,” he tries to explain himself. Sober Marius is not much better at articulating his thoughts than drunk Eponine. She considers tuning him out, but it’s kind of endearing, like how babies are endearing when they babble nonsense.

“Like, it was jarring, right? I really thought we had a connection, but then she doesn't even like boys, which is fine, but I just, I guess I was just oblivious, right?” And when Eponine doesn't respond, he repeats, “Right?”

Eponine's lips are pressed into a tight line and she makes some strangled noise in the back of her throat. She closes her eyes and tips her head back a moment, trying to drown out the mediocre tunes of whatever local band is playing. _“What do you mean,”_ she begins, slowly, _“what do you mean, she doesnt like boys?”_ Her voice is at least three octaves higher than usual.

“Weren't you there? I remember you being there.”

“I had… to step out for a minute.” 

“Oh.” Marius may not be the brightest, but he is aware that… _something_ is happening right now. 

_“Marius?”_

“She’s, uh, she’s gay. She told me she’s a lesbian. I guess you’re, uh, the last one to know, ‘Ponine!” He punctuates it with a nervous laugh, and Eponine is reminded of a child trying to ease the tension during a scolding _(‘it’s a funny story, really’)._

And Eponine can't hold it in anymore - she lets out a frustrated, cathartic noise that turns into a wild laugh that ends sharply a moment later, eyes wide and manic. A victorious grin is plastered on her face and people sitting at the surrounding tables give her a weird look, and honestly, Eponine really just couldn't care less. Marius is blushing furiously and stifling a laugh he’s sure is inappropriate, and Eponine is squeezing his hand and saying _“That's crazy! That's crazy! That's so interesting!”_

Suddenly, Marius is the responsible one, peeling a dizzy Eponine from her vinyl barstool and into the fresh night breeze, where she is looking up at the stars and blinking very hard. She manages to suppress her grin into a tight-lipped smirk, and she says to Marius, “It’s been a lovely evening my friend, really, thank you for paying, I’m going to catch the bus, adios, au revoir, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye,” all very quickly and melodically. 

Marius stares at her long black hair swishing behind her as she bounces away, himself equal parts amused and unnerved. Eponine is cool, calm, and collected. Eponine is _mostly_ cool, calm, and collected. 

_Something, Marius thinks to himself, _something… strange is happening._ _

__

__

At 1 pm, Grantaire wakes to a dozen texts from Eponine. 

EPONINE: HOW LONG DID YOU KNOW???  
GRANTAIRE.  
HOW LONG DID YOU KNOW  
WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME  
COSETTE - LESBIAN?? 

_Shit,_ thinks Grantaire, half because he knows only something wild can come from all of this, and half because he really did forget to tell her. Oops. There are six more texts from her in a similar fashion, and then one sent an hour later from the last. 

EPONINE: come 2 my house asap 

Grantaire knows better than to say no to Eponine. In a huff, he drags a hand through his hair and pulls on a pair of jeans. 

“So. Cosette. Lesbian. Why am I just learning about this now?” Says Eponine, hands on her hips like a frustrated mother. Grantaire winces. 

“Erm, we all had our suspicions, even before… you were even more oblivious than Marius, honestly.” 

She narrows her eyes at him. “Not the point.” 

Grantaire is laying his head against her old headboard, legs criss cross on her comforter. She is pacing at the foot of her bed, frantically pulling her hair out of her face, into a ponytail, letting it go, pulling it back up, letting it fall. It's oddly soothing. 

“I mean, she reads _so much_ Sappho. And she said her favorite song is _Come to my Window._ Are you seriously surprised?” 

She throws a pillow at him. “Well, it's like, it's like, it's all been a fantasy, right? Like I would casually think of kissing her or something -” 

“It totally wasn't casual, by the way -” 

“But I never really thought about it _substantially,_ you know, like it's never been _real,_ like - and now… it could be. Is this what it's like for straight teenage girls? When they're in high school and they think the football captain is going to ask them to prom? Is this what that is?” 

“Is Cosette the football captain?” 

With a huff, Eponine plops down on her bed. A sticky ring pop sits on her middle finger - sugar eases her, she claims. “What am I supposed to do?” 

Grantaire bites his lip. “I mean… nothing? Like, we do nothing. We just nurture these elementary-school type crushes until the day we die and maybe we leave a love letter in our death and that's it, probably. We just don't do anything. There's nothing to do about it.” 

Eponine seems unfulfilled by the way her eyes narrow at the ceiling. “I do _not_ accept that.” 

Grantaire shrugs. He’s the master of unrequited love. “It’s easier like this,” he says, but it’s not, actually, and he knows this - he knows that maybe if he asked Enjolras to a restaurant or a bar or an all expenses paid trip to Hawaii he’d say no, flat out, and then Grantaire could get closure, and then maybe at that point he’d be a successful enough artist to afford therapy (maybe Jehan would do, or Joly, who probably knows everything about the brain), and then he’d be done and it would be over. But it’s like a miserable book, a long, gut-wrenching book that tortures every character, that you hate to read but can't put down, that you cry over when you finish it because you didn't want it to end. The pain becomes a comfort after a while. Wise men say _‘it's better to have loved and to have lost, than to have never loved at all.’_ He rolls his eyes at that sentiment. Not quite the same, Grantaire thinks bitterly. _I am not_ losing _anything. I do not have anything to lose._

As if reading his thoughts, Eponine says, “It’s not like we have anything to lose.” 

Grantaire gives her a sick laugh, disbelieving. She rolls her eyes. 

_“I mean,”_ she begins, like a moody teenager, “you already think Enj can't stand you - if he only confirms it, what's the difference?” 

“So you want to just walk up to Cosette at the next meeting and ask her out?” Eponine gives him a warning glance. “What do we have to lose, right?” 

The ring pop exits her mouth with a satisfying _pop!_ “That's - no, that's different. I’m not saying we just hit them up out of the blue, but, I mean, like, maybe we could try, right? Like we could try and if we fail then we fail. Maybe we should try.” It was clear Grantaire would not convince her of anything. “And everyone knows you’re madly in love with him anyway.” 

Grantaire's face twists into a horrified look. “They do?” 

Eponine gives him an annoyed eye roll. _“Obviously,”_ she scoffs. “All you do is stare at him during meetings and hope he calls on you so you can say some stupid bullshit. You don't antagonize anyone else like you do to him. You better be grateful that he’s even more oblivious than Marius - who also knows, by the way. You're, like, a complete whore, and everyone knows it, dude.” 

He considers this. “Okay, what's your game plan?” 

A particularly shit-eating grin spreads over Eponine's face. 

The game plan was, as Eponine put it, simple enough. Grantaire is Eponine's wingman, and Eponine is Grantaires. Easy. 

Except, not that easy, because Cosette is very kind and nice and easy to talk to, and Enjolras is… _weird._ “Isn’t it kind of unfair that you have to deal with Enjolras’ bullshit and I get to chat with lovely Cosette?” 

“Not really,” Eponine assures, offering no further explanation. She didn't have to - Eponine was the single most determined person Grantaire had ever met. Even more so than Enjolras - what Eponine wanted, she got, one way or another. She just didn't want that much. And besides, Enjolras is stubborn, and so is Eponine, so who better to be Grantaire's wingman? No other member of Les Amis would be quite so effective - except, perhaps, Combeferre, who would definitely have no part in this. 

“Okay,” Grantaire says steadily, “what am I supposed to say? What does a wingman even do?” 

Eponine pondered this. She had never really gone after anyone, and rarely cared about anyone enough to do something like this for them. She sucked her ring pop. 

“Just, like… let her know I’m a lesbian? And that I’m into her? Or, just hint at it. Like, ‘Eponine doesn't grow out her nails,’ or ‘Eponine never had an Ed Sheeran phase.’” 

A smile cracks over Grantaire’s face. “Cool, okay. And what will you be telling Enjolras?” It would seem Eponine had already thought of this. 

“That you’re not actually a complete shithead? Like, you actually care about things? I don't know why you pretend not to care about anything. Maybe he thinks you hate him,” she muses. “He _definitely_ thinks you hate him.” 

Grantaire considers this with a frown. He can’t imagine actually hating Enjolras. “It’s not _really_ a facade -” 

“R, last week you pretended to have never given to charity in your life. You’re literally on a monthly donation list for that _thing,_ so, like, I don't know why you think acting like everything sucks is the proper way to get an optimist to like you.” She sits up cross-legged and looks at him. “Nihilism isn’t sexy,” she adds.

The _thing_ Eponine referenced was an LGBT youth organization that he couldn't believe she remembered he signed up for two years ago. 

The room was very silent as Grantaire thought over what Eponine said. It was true that he and Enjolras didn't exactly see eye-to-eye on everything, but he’s never been completely transparent with him. _Laziness, probably,_ he thought. It was much, much easier to be disliked when you make yourself unlikable, but if he were to be vulnerable with Enjolras and still end up unlovable - that seemed much, much worse. 

“What are the rules?” 

“We can make some up as we go along. But for starters, how about ‘no lying.’ You can't lie and say that, like, I’m really good at pottery or something, because I cant follow up on it.” 

_“Okay. How about ‘no involving other members of the group.’”_

Eponine nods in agreement. “And you cannot, under any circumstance, tell the other person that we’re in love with them.” 

The room fell into a comfortable silence as Grantaire considered the plan. There were three possibilities laid out in front of him like cards - the first being that Grantaire refuses, and just goes on being a little bitch forever. The second was to accept and somehow, miraculously, it works, and Grantaire gets to actually hold Enjolras’ hand or something. Or the third possibility, the most likely one, which is that he accepts and it doesn't work, and Enjolras ends up hating him forever and maybe Cosette hates Eponine too. But then again, closure, acceptance, the stages of grief, and maybe Grantaire can once again be a functioning human being. 

Eponine interrupts this train of thinking. “So?” 

He hesitates, and then gives her a defeated sigh. “Okay, I guess.” 

Popping the ring back in her mouth, she lies back on the bed. “Cool, okay,” she smiles. 

Just then, Gavroche opened the door, arriving back from school. 

“‘Ponine! I made it in the school play!” And then, because he was caring too much for a 12 year old boy, he added, “I mean, _obviously,_ my audition was _fantastic.”_ Upon noticing Grantaire, he stuck his tongue out at him and gave him a face of mock disgust. Grantaire stuck his tongue back out at him and grinned. Oh, to be 12 years old again and not hopelessly in love with someone who hates every fiber of your being. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is weirdly short and ive gotta b honest w yall..... the chapter lengths in this fic are going to b really inconsistent and range from 2000 words to like 8000 so. sorry abt that lol peace love and pixie dust hope u enjoy

The next time Les Amis would get together would not actually be at any meeting. Bahorel was throwing a housewarming party upon renting his first apartment with Feuilley and obviously everyone would be invited. Actually, no one was invited, because everyone just kind of knows to show up at Bahorel’s home for the _“Rager of the century,”_ as he described it. Grantaire seriously doubted this, because how much of a rager could it be if Combeferre planned on attending? Eponine wouldn’t have gone, except for the plan, and also free booze, so, okay, maybe she totally would have gone. Enjolras actually didn’t plan on attending, except Cosette was going, which meant she was dragging Enjolras along with her. 

Enjolras rarely attended parties - letting go isn't easy for him, not like it is for Courfeyrac or Bossuet. He usually ends up tripping over small talk and slipping into the background and not drinking enough (or in far worse cases, drinking _too_ much - he cringed at the memory of Courfeyrac’s 21st birthday, when Enjolras downed five martinis and belted along to Lady Gaga karaoke. It was a bad night for Grantaire, to say the least). He plans on making a few rounds, saying hello, congratulating Bahorel, then taking the bus home so Cosette could stay and take the car later. A short, hopefully uneventful evening. 

Enjolras, for once in his life, does not show up early. He has learned that for parties, it's actually fashionable to show up later, and also Cosette takes a long time to get ready, and then she makes fun of his outfit, so he feels compelled to change, and suddenly they're nearly an hour late. _This must be what it's like to be Grantaire,_ he thinks. And then he wonders why he thought that and why all of the sudden he's very interested in whether or not Grantaire will be at the party.

Of course he is - free booze! And also, he’s close friends with Bahorel - why wouldn’t he attend? Enjolras begrudgingly admits that maybe he’s thinking a bit too much. When they arrive, the party is in full swing. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are dancing in a circle in the living room, Marius is red-faced and sweaty, sipping what's probably only his first beer. Feuilley and Jehan are laughing at something he's saying, no doubt the reason why he’s been drinking. Courfeyrac and Combeferre are sitting near them, Courfeyrac in Combeferre’s lap, definitely trying to make him blush and only being a little bit successful. Grantaire, sober enough and already on his fourth beer, is sitting on pillows next to Eponine on the living room floor, giggling and whispering to each other. Bahorel sometimes comes around with refreshments and when he can't coerce them into food, coerces them into dancing for a bit, in sloppy, bouncy, shameless movements. Enjolras has never seen Grantaire dance - earnestly dance, like he's having fun and not like he's trying to be sarcastic. For a moment, Enjolras is mesmerized by the way Grantaire’s hair bounces with each movement, the way his shirt rides up, exposing the smallest strip of skin - It looks fun. _Fun. That's probably the right word._ Enjolras, unsurprisingly, does not join them.

He and Cosette are standing in the doorway, measly holding the muffins they baked the night before. In her pink socks, Cosette awkwardly kicks the door closed, and it makes a thud that startles everyone except Jehan, who tosses his head back and says “Wow! Food! And Enjolras! And Cosette!” And the room erupts in a happy noise that embarrases him. He realizes, then, that if they had arrived on time he’d probably be leaving now. 

He watches Eponine whisper something that causes Grantaire to give Enjolras a quick, blushing glance. Enjolras blushes at Grantaire blushing, though he’s not sure why. Grantaire talking about him isn't exactly out of the ordinary, and he usually tries to be the bigger man and ignore it. But Grantaire looks so inviting with his cheeks flushed and smiling and he gets the sudden urge to approach them like they’re old friends. They _are,_ he guesses, but he can’t recall the last time they shared a truly friendly, earnest conversation, if ever. Enjolras does not need to be told that he is _not_ cool, calm, or collected - a pang of _something_ not unfamiliar hits him in his navel, and he knows somehow it must be _his_ fault. But then Courfeyrac says “Enj! Gorgeous, wonderful Enj! You made muffins!” And Enjolras knows that he must immediately offer Courfeyrac the muffins or else he will become inconsolably upset. Cosette drifts from him to make her round of hellos. 

Enjolras sits at Combeferre’s table for a long time, contributing very little, drinking very little (which is a lot, for him), and feeling a lot. He likes his friends, but he feels out of place with them unless he can participate, when he feels like the space he occupies with them matters. Debates, discussions - he feels comfortable in these settings, like he belongs - but parties he just can't _do._ He mutters something about needing the bathroom and untethers himself from the group, who, he is sure, barely notices. 

It is a powerful force, Eponine, Cosette, and Musichetta combined. When theyre all together, they talk in hushed words and giggles and discrete looks. It's intimidating, to say the least, so upon being effectively abandoned by Eponine, Grantaire heads to the kitchen for a water. After filling his glass, he makes his way back to the living room but in his path passes the open door to the balcony, where he spots an anxious Enjolras hiding. 

He debates on whether or not he should enter, and he almost doesn’t, but Enjolras just looks so _lonely,_ and maybe Grantaire isn’t the best company but his discipline is waning. 

“Apollo?” Grantaire thinks he says softly, but maybe he doesn't, because Enjolras looks up with a start. 

“Oh,” He says, not quite relieved. “Hello.”

Grantaire nods, but knows he’s drastically unprepared to take care of him (not that he doesn't want to - he _really, really_ wants to). “I think maybe Combeferre is who you want to see right now,” he says, and makes to leave and fetch him but Enjolras is pulling at his sleeve. 

“No, he’s with Courf, I don't want you to…” He trails off. “It’s fine, you’re fine.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They fall into an uncomfortable silence. Grantaire sips his water. 

“You were uncharacteristically late, my friend,” he says, finally. 

“Yeah, I, uh, wanted to look good.”

Grantaire quirks an eyebrow. “You did?” He asks, and then realizes it probably comes off more critically than he meant for it to. 

“Do I not look good?” Questions Enjolras, now looking down at his sweater and slacks, searching for some flaw he didn't notice earlier.

“No, uh - well, yeah - uh, you look fine. Good,” he tries, and before Enjolras has time to think about _that_ he adds, “I just, um. Didn’t really think you actually, uh. Cared.” Enjolras looks unexpectedly embarrassed. Grantaire really doesn’t know how to do this vulnerable thing, and _this isn't even part of the deal,_ he realizes, _Eponine is supposed to be the one doing this, Eponine is supposed to be his wingman,_ and he’s wondering if it's possible to be your own wingman when Enjolras says “You also look good,” and Grantaire thinks he’s probably caught in one of Joly or Bossuet’s pranks. 

“Uhm. Thanks.”

Enjolras doesn't make eye contact, so Grantaire tries (and fails) to inconspicuously sneak a glance at him. Enjolras is flushed red, and Grantaire is taken aback because he’s never seen him flushed. Clearly, this whole _cheering up Enjolras_ thing is not working.

“Are you okay?” He tries, unsure of how to deal with a nervous Enjolras.

“Yeah, pretty much. I’m pretty much fine.” Grantaire knows he’s lying, but he doesn’t know how to help him, so he finally just asks, “Okay, weirdo, what's the problem?” 

Enjolras turns to him and makes a few strange noises in the back of his throat. Grantaire realizes he must not know what to say, and he’s confused because Enjolras always knows what to say. 

“I, uh - I think that. Parties aren't really, um. I just want -” he stumbles over his words and sighs. He takes a moment to think and gives a subtle shake of his head. “You should, uh, go. I think.” 

Grantaire considers him for a moment, opens his mouth to say something, then decides against it. He stares at him hard for a long time, and is about to leave when he hears himself say, “Would you rather I was someone else?” 

He’s not even sure what he meant by it or if an answer would help him or not. _Ignorance is bliss, mostly,_ Grantaire thinks, and then he’s leaving before a bewildered Enjolras can respond. On his way out the door, he leaves his glass of water on Bahorel’s patio table and mumbles “I think you should drink this, probably.” 

“‘Ponine,” sighs Grantaire, sitting down with the girls. They’ve been drinking. He can tell by the way they coo over him like a child. “I'm a wreck.”

“Aw, baby,” says Musichetta. “A party is no place to be sad.” He lets her run a hand through his hair, and it's surprisingly soothing. Soon, all three of them are playing with his hair, braiding it, combing it. It does help, actually. 

“What's the problem, R?” 

He literally can't say in front of them, so he studies his thumbs for a moment. “I think I might have had too much to drink. I think. Yeah.” 

_“Oh,”_ says Eponine, who immediately understands what he means. She has never heard Grantaire say that, even when he has, clearly, had too much to drink. “Uhm. I guess I’ll escort him home. Just, uh, wait here, okay?” Eponine gets up to use the bathroom, or say her goodbyes, or something. Grantaire doesn’t really know, still shell shocked by the conversation (if you could even call it that) he just had with Enjolras. 

He wants to salvage the night somehow. Make it good. Hey, he’s _practically_ alone with Cosette - why not try to initiate the plan? 

“You know, Eponine is a really big fan of… uh… Fiona Apple,” he says, unprompted. Cosette gives him a confused smile and Musichetta lets out a laugh because, really, how much more obvious does he need to be? Cosette doesn’t quite pick up on what he means, and before he can say anything else, Eponine appears at his side, red-faced and swatting at his shoulder.

“Uhm, I just ran into Enjolras and, uh,” she begins, and suddenly Enjolras is there too. Grantaire gives Eponine a mortified look. He still has those childish braids and knots in his hair. Frantically, he tries to brush them out with his fingers, but it just ends up just knotting even more and most of the little braids are still there anyway. Enjolras just lets out the softest laugh, soft enough to put Grantaire at ease.

“Here, R, let me help,” he offers, and runs a hand through his hair. Grantaire is, for once in his life, silent. He is not sure exactly what's going on, and even worse, has no idea what Eponine might have told him. 

“Anyway,” she begins again. “He volunteered to drive you home, actually. Well, drive _us_ home.” 

Cosette furrows her brow. “You’re going to take the car, Enj?” 

_Shit,_ Grantaire pieces together, because it means that Cosette definitely won't stay and take the bus home alone so late at night. Okay, fine. So all four of them will ride together. No big deal. 

Or, he didn't think it would be, until Cosette insists on sitting in the back with Eponine, _alone,_ which Eponine looks terrified for, and which also means that Grantaire has to ride shotgun with Enjolras. Okay. Cool. _Fine._

The car is very quiet when he starts it up. Eponine looks like she will just about die sitting so close to Cosette, who is dressed in her prettiest party-wear and literally shines in the moonlight because she’s wearing so much glitter. Grantaire won’t look at Enjolras, but at least Enjolras has the excuse of driving to not look at him. He makes the smart choice of putting on the radio, which is actually a bad choice because it immediately starts blaring some ABBA song that Cosette clearly loves because she’s singing all soft in the backseat and Grantaire just knows Eponine is going to die sitting there. 

But it's funny. Really, truly, it is comedically _stupid,_ all of it, the mere concept of all four of them trapped together in Enjolras’ used BMW, a million secrets between them. Grantaire can't help but let out a manic laugh at the _drama,_ the _theatre_ of it all. Enjolras takes a look at him, at Grantaire's frizzy, disheveled hair, and starts to laugh, too, and soon Eponine and Cosette join in too, laughing at nothing at all.

They’re laughing so hard when they drop off Eponine that no one notices she left her purse behind.


	3. Chapter 3

The next meeting rolls around a few days later and Eponine is in a mood. She hasn’t had her wallet or her purse for two days, and Gavroche has been making her rehearse lines with him for his school play when she's not working or at class. Grantaire would wonder why she even showed up if he didn't already know. Begrudgingly, he peels off his sweater and hands it to her.

“Just sleep through the meeting, I’ll tell them that you’re running from the law or something.” 

Eponine gives him a look because she hates pity, but she accepts his sweater anyway and lays her head on it like a high schooler taking a nap on a desk. Finally submitting to sleep, she looks young, like she did junior year of high school when they first met, not yet under so much pressure. He shivers in just his t-shirt; Grantaire usually wears a jacket or a hoodie or some sort of layer, being a bit insecure, but he’s glad to lend a hand to Eponine. He yawns, exposing a strip of skin above his navel and when he turns around Enjolras is there, with Cosette, pushing open the doors of the cafe. They make brief, unmistakable eye contact and quickly look away from each other. Grantaire feels his face burn.

Cosette approaches the sleeping Eponine and softly taps her shoulder. She looks up, irritated, but softens when she sees who it is. “Oh, hey,” she says, coolly. 

“Hi,” smiles Cosette. “You, uh, left this in our car a few days ago.” She offers Eponine her bag, who accepts it gratefully. 

“God, thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” she breathes, beaming up at her in a noticeable change of mood. Cosette gives her a glowing smile and shyly retreats back to her usual table. Once she’s gone, Eponine trifles through her bag, looking for something that becomes increasingly obvious is not there. _“Shit,”_ she mutters.

“Lose something?” Asks Grantaire, and Eponine nods. When she doesn't expand, he asks what it is. At this, Eponine’s face pales and she refuses to make eye contact.

“Um, a CD. It's fine, though, if I lost it, because it was, uh, old - actually, it wasn't, it was pretty new, but um. It wasn’t really mine. Well, I was gonna um. I, um,” she sighs and accepts that she’ll just have to submit to intense mortification. “I burned Cosette a CD and I was gonna give it to her,” she breathes out quickly. Eponine is mostly shameless, but something like this is unspeakably earnest, and _caring is for suckers._ Grantaire resists the urge to tease her.

No, he doesn't. “You burned her a fucking _CD?_ This isn't, like, a coming of age teen movie, ‘Ponine.” 

She bites her lip. _“Shut up._ I just thought it would be nice.” 

“It is nice,” assures Grantaire. “What songs were on it?”

Eponine shuts her eyes tight, so as not to see his face when she says _Fast Car_ by Tracy Chapman. 

He lets out a huff of laughter. “That's just about as obvious you can be while still being subtle, I guess. Where do you think it could be?” 

She wracked her sleep-deprived brain. “God, it could be at Bahorel’s, it could have fallen out in their car. I don't know,” she sighs, embittered. 

“Why didn't you just give it to her during the party?”

“I guess I forgot.”

Grantaire studies her and barks a laugh that makes Joly and Bossuet give him a strange look. “No, you didn't! You totally didn't forget! You were scared!” He gives one more hearty laugh as Eponine swats his shoulder. She’s about to say something when Enjolras begins the meeting.

Afterwards, they agree that it’s time to live up to their wingman statuses. Grantaire slides next to Cosette, and Eponine coolly takes a seat at the table where Enjolras is stapling fliers. Silently, she joins him. He gives her a confused look.

“Uh, hi, Eponine,” he offers awkwardly. Eponine doesn't mind. They’ve never actually had a conversation, just the two of them, and she has the feeling that she intimidates him somewhat. She gets the feeling she intimidates most people. 

“Hey Enj,” she says casually. “What are these flyers for?” 

He relaxes at the topic of social justice. “They’re advocating for wheelchair accessibility. It was Jolys idea.” 

“Cool, cool,” and if she had been talking to anyone else she might have scolded herself over how stupid a thing that was to say. “Accessibility is cool.” She sees the corner of his mouth perk up, and she knows she must be doing something right (not that she ever doubted herself, of course).

“So, accessibility. You know, Grantaire talks about that sometimes,” she mentions like it's no big deal. She notices Enjolras’ hand falter for a moment, then it picks back up into a rhythm of stapling.

“Does he?” 

“Yeah, like, art accessibility. That sort of thing.” She deliberately leaves little explanation (well, Eponine usually leaves little explanation, but whatever).

“...Like what, if you don't mind?” 

“Oh, well,” she begins casually, thinking of how to phrase it. It wasn't a lie, but Eponine also doesn't remember much of what he says in his rants. “I guess you’d have to ask him. But apparently most art is, like, super inaccessible, and tools are really expensive, and uhm, I guess that's why most super successful artists tend to be, like, white. Like, it costs a lot of money to be able to visit museums and see art in real life - but I don't know that much about it. Grantaire’s pretty passionate about it, though.” 

At the last sentence, Enjolras looks at her, then, over her shoulder, at Grantaire, who was having an animated conversation with Cosette. Briefly, subtly, he shakes his head. 

“Oh,” he says unsteadily. “I did not know that.” He enunciates every consonant sharply.

Eponine shrugs and hides behind her long black hair, grinning to herself. 

“So, Cosette, how’s it hanging?” 

Cosette gives him a radiant smile. “Nothing much, I guess. I just have to wait until Enjolras is done working so we can go home together.”

“You know, Eponine would totally give you a ride home. Or, actually, she’ll ride the bus home with you, she doesn’t mind, she does it all the time, actually.” Grantaire hopes he didn't accidentally break a rule. 

“Actually, I would like that. I just don't like riding alone, you know? And I like Eponine…”

Grantaire’s face cracks into the giddy grin of a child. “You do?”

She gives him a confused look. “Uh, yeah? Am I not supposed to?” 

_I might be blowing my cover,_ he thinks to himself. “It's just, uh, Eponine doesn’t have many friends,” and Grantaire realizes how much he sounds like an overprotective mom.

“What about you? And Marius?” 

“Those are… boys. She doesn't have many girlfriends. _She doesn’t have a girlfriend.”_

He thinks he's being slick, but then Cosette brings up Musichetta. _I am not good at this,_ he decides.

“Well, okay, she doesn't have a friend like you, you know?”

“No, not really,” she says, but she’s laughing, so Grantaire’s laughing, too. 

They slip into a comfortable silence, and Cosette begins humming a familiar tune that Grantaire can't quite place.

“So, uhm, you like music?” He tries, stupidly. _Maybe Eponine does have it easier,_ he thinks. 

“Uh, yeah, I really like music!” Says Cosette cheerily, trying her best to carry the conversation. “Actually, I work at this museum, and they're holding this art contest, and the winner gets some tickets to see the US National Orchestra when they come next week. I think that's um, really cool.” 

Grantaire gets an idea, which is usually no good. 

“Cool!” He says, trying to be subtle. “Are you going to compete?”

“God no,” assures Cosette quickly. “I’m no artist. And it's also supposed to be about, like, Greek mythology, or something, which I don't know much about, so, I pretty much have no chance. But it’s still cool.” 

Grantaire nods. “You know, I’m kind of an artist -”

“Oh, yeah, Enjolras has mentioned,” she says offhandedly. Grantaire fists his shirt beneath the table. 

“Uh, _so,_ I’m an artist, and uh, I could win you those tickets, if you want,” he offers. “I know a little about Greek mythology, I could probably whip something up by next week if you want to give me the details, or something.”

Cosette looks the happiest she’s ever been, doe-eyed and mouth parted just slightly. It reminds him of Enjolras. “You really don't mind? Really?” Grantaire shakes his head, and Cosette gives him a hug which completely takes him by surprise because Cosette uses the same detergent as Enjolras and that's not good.

Suddenly, Enjolras appears at their table, looming over them and figuring out where to put his hands. He clears his throat, trying to be casual. Cool, calm, collected - none of which are words one might use to describe him. 

“Um,” he starts. “Cosette, I think this is going to take longer than usual, so, uh, sorry.” Cosette looks momentarily glum, until Grantaire pipes up.

“‘Ponine!” He shouts over to her. She gives him a look that probably means _careful, dumbass,_ until he asks, “Do you want to escort Cosette home?” 

“Oh, uh, sure. Yes. Sure.” He gives her a teasing look as she fetches her bag (she would _not_ forget it this time). Throwing it over her shoulder, she holds Grantaire's sweater in a ball. 

“Here, R, and thanks,” she offers, except she says the ‘thanks’ part much quieter and pretends not to be embarrassed. He shrugs it on while Enjolras makes a point not to look - he’s totally looking, actually, in his periphery, but he would never admit it. Cosette turns to Grantaire.

“Are you sure you’re just going to stay here?” She asks him. Enjolras makes a strange noise where he stands, then briskly returns to his flyers. Truthfully, Grantaire wanted nothing more than to go home and check out, but he knows Eponine wants to ride home alone with Cosette. 

“Who else will keep your dear brother company?” He says half-sarcastically. Enjolras looks up from where he’s working, blushes, and then looks back down. _Tonight is weird,_ Grantaire decides. _Oh well._

The girls scurry out the door, leaving Grantaire in the dwindling cafe. He picks at his phone for a bit, long enough until he is sure he won’t run into the girls while on his way home, and then makes to leave. That is, until Enjolras speaks up.

“R,” says Enjolras, softly. Grantaire wasn't sure which was stranger, to hear Enjolras use his nickname so casually or to hear him call for him like that, without any annoyance or frustration in his voice. He hesitates - he isn't sure what this is going to be.

“Yeah, Enj?” He says, trying to match the softness in his voice. “Hm?”

“Uh, are you leaving?” He asks. 

Grantaire nods. “You don't mind if I drive you home, then, do you?” 

“No, uh, yeah, thats cool. Thanks. You’re all done with work?” 

Enjolras looks down at his stack of flyers shyly. “Doesn't matter, it’s getting late - I think I should turn in, too.” 

Grantaire narrows his eyes at him, considering. He lets out a small laugh. He had never heard Enjolras say anything like that, ever - if it was between working and eating, breathing, or living, Enjolras would always pick work. _If it was between me and work,_ Grantaire thinks bitterly, _Enjolras would pick work._

“No, it does matter, I know it matters to you,” Grantaire says, shaking his head. “I’ll help you finish, and you can give me a ride home, okay? Then we’re even.”

At this, Enjolras frowns (when doesn't he?), and hesitates a moment. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You make things so difficult, sometimes, R,” he mutters under his breath. Grantaire is taken aback by the domesticity of it all. It was an argument they've had a thousand times - Grantaire doesn't believe in anything, Enjolras believes in too much, somebody doesn't listen, the other talks too much - but the ease at which it slipped out, matched with the offhand use of his nickname reminded him of how an elderly man and woman might argue casually on their porch. In his head, Eponine is telling him to be transparent. 

“I want to help you. I want to do this for you, okay? You help me, I help you -”

“But - I don't - I don't want you to help me -” He watches the expression on Grantaire’s face fall from hesitant to hurt. Once again, he said the wrong thing. “No, I just mean, _shit -”_

_“I know,”_ Grantaire begins, “that you think I’m good for nothing. I know. I get it, it's fine, just forget about it.” He turns around, ready to leave.

“No, R, I just mean that um - I just want to drive you home, okay?” He approaches Grantaire hesitantly, closely. “We don't need to be even. Thats, um. It’s fine. I just want to drive you home and you don't have to owe me. I, uh - I want to be in the same car as you.” Enjolras is tall, but the way he plays with his coat ends and retreats into his sweater makes him look very small, like an embarrassed child, and Grantaire, even now, can’t help but imagine child Enjolras, bundled up in red mittens and shouting for playground justice. 

“Okay,” agrees Grantaire. “You can drive me.” He suddenly has the overwhelming urge to adjust the scarf around Enjolras’ collar, and, in a wild indulgence, he does. His hands brush the nape of his neck _(god, his neck)_ and he can feel where his hair is falling out of its tie. Once again he’s struck by the domesticity of it all - he remembers the image of his mother kissing his father goodbye on the edge of his mouth every morning, adjusting his tie, smoothing his hair. He lets his hand brush against his neck just a bit longer, and _oh_ \- Enjolras is looking at him. He can feel Enjolras looking at him. Grantaire looks up at him, catches his eye, and there is a lull in the universe right then where he thinks maybe something could happen, like aliens could invade the earth or the cafe could catch on fire, or maybe he could lean in and kiss him (if it really was the end of the world), but nothing happens, and the moment is gone as quickly as it came. He pulls his hands away and stuffs them in his pockets. He wonders if Enjolras feels it, too, if they, for a second, shared some psychic wave and both thought, _“Would you…?”_

A flustered Enjolras steps away, gathering the flyers against his arm with purpose. The mustard yellow paper is stark against his arm. “Enj?” Grantaire asks, easy anything.

“Mhm, R?” He hums, not quite looking at him. 

“Do you like arguing with me?” Enjolras looks up at him, then, startled by the question. But he sees the way Grantaire's mouth is allowing itself to twist into a smile - not the shiteating grin that signifies some awful omen, but a true, helpless smile - and Enjolras finds himself smiling, too, and he cant help it when he says with a quiet laugh, “Yeah, R, I like arguing with you.” 

“I think if Courf or ‘Ferre offered to help you with the flyers, you’d just let them.” 

Enjolras nods. “You’re not Courf or ‘Ferre.” 

Grantaire's tongue is between his teeth when he smiles, a childhood habit he’d tried to tease out several times over the years. It would seem slipping into old habits came easy with Enjolras. “Mhm,” he hums. “Do you wish I was?” 

It's surprising how quickly Enjolras shakes his head. “I don't like arguing with them,” he says wistfully.

“You like arguing with me.” 

“I like the way your face twists up sometimes. I like the way you talk. And, um, I like when you get riled up. I think about you - I think about it a lot.” His voice falls just above a whisper, and even though the cafe is empty, Grantaire thinks _this must be what streaking is like, or skinny dipping, or exhibitionism._ “Not just your face, but the way you move, your voice.” Grantaire can tell Enjolras is saying a lot more than he was prepared to - he can tell by the way his ears are pink. 

“That's funny,” says Grantaire, his shoulder brushing against Enjolras’ as they exit the cafe. 

“Is it?” 

“I think that same thing about you, all the time.”


	4. Chapter 4

At the next meeting, Enjolras passes out articles about art accessibility. Grantaire beams. He is, noticeably, much less antagonistic than he usually is at any other meeting. Until the end, when he says some strange unprovoked thing about eroticism being the height of all art, and he and Enjolras get into some heated debate - the topic of which neither remember - and when Enjolras calls the meeting over Grantaire gives him a wink. 

Eponine, sly as a fox, watches everything.

It's becoming more normal for the four of them to sit at the same table. It’s all still very chaste and unspoken because Grantaire sits next to Cosette and Eponine sits next to Enjolras. But it feels comfortable, anyway. 

“Have you told them about the competition?” Cosette mentions. 

Enjolras raises his eyebrows at Grantaire, who flushes and talks more to the overhead table lamp than at anyone in particular. Talking about his art with other people tends to make him uncomfortable - the usual restrictions he has for earnesty, transparency, vulnerability. 

“Uhm, Cosette’s work is having an art competition, and, um, I’m entering to win her some concert tickets.” When they look at him expectantly, he adds, “It’s Greek themed. Greek mythology.” 

Enjolras takes a hard sip of wine from Grantaires bottle, and flashes him a smile that doesn't completely seem genuine. Grantaire ponders it a moment too long. 

“What are you going to draw? Which god? Which scene?” 

Grantaire hesitates, because he doesn't actually know, until Eponine speaks up for him. “Apollo,” she says nonchalantly. “Right? Didn’t you mention something about Apollo?” 

Cosette squeals in excitement, but Grantaire’s face is blank with shock as the implications of what she just said settle in. Grantaire makes a show of not making eye contact with Enjolras, who doesn't notice, because Enjolras is also making a show of not making eye contact with Grantaire. Eponine rolls her eyes.

“You were telling me -”

“‘Ponine…” Grantaire tries to say politely, trying to make it a warning, but he knows that he can’t make Eponine yield. 

_“You were telling me _that you needed a model, right?” And that's it, Grantaire is going to kidnap Gavroche or light her house on fire, or something, because if she goes as far as to _volunteer Enjolras_ \- sweet, kind Enjolras, who would have no choice but to say yes - then Grantaire would probably dissolve off the face of the Earth. _Okay, I can salvage this,_ Grantaire is thinking, _As long as we don't_ make _Enjolras do anything, then its fine, and he won't -___

__“I can be the model,” Enjolras suggests casually. And Grantaire considers calling Joly over to examine if he’s having a heart attack, because _what.__ _

__“Um, what about your, um. Work.” Grantaire says monotonously, trying to come up with some excuse._ _

__Enjolras waves a dismissive hand, gesturing not to worry about it. “It’s to help a friend. And my sister,” and Grantaire _knows_ something is wrong (the end of the world?) because he has never heard anyone offer to do anything as kind as that for their sibling, and he can also probably count the amount of times Enjolras has referred to him as a friend on one hand. _ _

__“Um,” is all Grantaire can say._ _

__“Unless…?” Enjolras starts, suddenly worried he may be overstepping a boundary._ _

__“No! No- it's fine, it's just, um, how much time do you have? Because it, uh, it takes some time. You know. Painting.”_ _

__Enjolras glances upward, recounting his internal calendar. “I’m free for the next two weeks. I don't know when you need this to be done,” he replies._ _

__“Okay. Cool. Maybe, uh. This weekend. Saturday,” and then he's thinking _shit_ because that's tomorrow. _ _

__But before Grantaire can take it back, Cosette says, “Fun! We can all come over and take polaroids for, uh, modelling purposes, I think, and me and Eponine can have a day to ourselves and you two can um, have a day to yourselves!” Dorky Cosette. Eponine is beaming._ _

__“Sounds great,” agrees Eponine. “1 pm?” _Shit, shit, shit.__ _

__

__Saturday comes, even though Grantaire prayed on hands and knees that the earth would just blow up or something. God must have it out for him. Karma._ _

___GRANTAIRE: what the fuck  
why did u do that dipshit  
do u know how sexy every classical painting is_

__EPONINE: yes ;)_ _

__To be fair, Eponine is not much more prepared than Grantaire. Cosette did not mention what a “girls day” actually meant and she’s if Cosette knows she’s poor, because if “girls day” just means shopping then she’s not sure how she can explain to Cosette the etiquette and mechanisms of shoplifting._ _

__In any case, she wears her favorite lipgloss and hopes that will make up for any potential failings to come. She drops Gavroche off at a friend's house and gets back on the bus for Grantaire’s apartment._ _

__

__He is _not_ happy to see her. Well, actually, he’s sort of relieved, but it also feels like getting scolded by a teacher. _ _

__“Mellow out,” Eponine says before he can say anything, which is partly advice to herself, too, because she drastically needs to mellow out. Usually when she and Cosette hang out, there are other people there, save for bus rides home. Bahorel’s party, meetings of Les Amis - they were never really _alone,_ and without another person to lean on, this could go _very wrong._ But everything always goes wrong for Grantaire, so he’s probably used to it by now._ _

___“Mellow out?!”_ He echoes. “How do I - neoclassical art is borderline _pornographic,_ ‘Ponine, and, he’s…” he goes on and on, but Eponine has kind of stopped paying attention because she’s thinking about how if she was a pornstar (and she’d make a _great_ pornstar, she assures herself) her name would _definitely_ be Pornographic ‘Ponine. _ _

__“You just - you know I could have just _googled_ a picture of Apollo - _or any other god_ \- right? Like, Enjolras does _not_ need to be here.” _ _

__Conveniently, a knock sounds on the door. With best friend telepathy, they say _“Shit,”_ in unison, and Eponine goes to open it until Grantaire yanks her back and frantically says something like _“I’m the host, I open the door!”_ So Eponine rolls her eyes and obliges, but then Grantaire is still too scared to open it so she just goes ahead anyway._ _

__And thank god she did, because Enjolras is standing at the door, clad in a mock-toga and a leaf wreath around his head. _Grantaire is so fucked,_ she thinks gleefully. At his side, Cosette stands in a sunhat and slacks, looking suspiciously like she's enjoying her brother's embarrassment. _ _

__“Um. Hi, ‘Ponine,” he says in his _Enjolras_ voice, the one where he’s a little too serious and a little too awkward, and the juxtaposition of this ‘serious-business’ facade and ridiculous costume is too much for Eponine and she cant help but collapse into laughter. _ _

__A concerned Grantaire calls from behind the door. “‘Ponine? Whats -” and then he appears in front of Enjolras - _and he is at a loss for words._ He is _sure_ he’s fantasized about this - well, Cosette wasn't there and neither was Eponine - but he is quite sure he’s had _multiple_ wet dreams that began exactly like this. _I am so fucked,_ he thinks. _ _

__Enjolras is red (what's new?) and mortified. “Hi, R. Um, can I come in?” And Grantaire doesn't say anything because he _can't,_ just nods very quickly and blinks a lot and is stepping aside for the siblings to enter. _ _

__“Hi, R! Hi, ‘Ponine!” Cosette greets them innocently, as if everything is normal and regular._ _

__“Um, so, uh - this…” says Enjolras, gesturing at his costume._ _

___“I_ made it! Last night! In one evening! And it took all night, and then he really had the audacity to act like he wasn't going to wear it, after I put so much hard work into it,” she says gleefully, but she has that shiteating grin Eponine loves so much, and Grantaire, in a horrifying moment, realizes how much she has already rubbed off on Cosette. _ _

__“We brought props, too,” she continues, pointing at a basket that rests on her hip. Out of it, she pulls a polaroid camera, a stem of grapes _(“very greek,”_ she explains), a leaf off of a plant. There's more in the basket that she doesnt pull out, and Eponine is relieved to piece together that they're only going on a picnic. _ _

__“Wait,” realizes Enjolras, “Is _this_ why you wanted to bring your polaroid?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, regretting not having realized it sooner. _ _

__Cosette gives an innocent shrug and adjusts the settings on the camera. “Everyone squeeze together!” She orders, but Eponine asks, “What about you?”_ _

__She gestures not to worry about it. “I’m going to remember myself, it's fine, just -” but Eponine makes a _tsk tsk_ sound that makes Cosette lower the camera. _ _

__“No, absolutely not. I know that has a self timer,” she says, determined to get a picture with Cosette. “We _all_ have to be in the picture.” _ _

__Cosette obliges, and they take a few goofy pictures, all of which Enjolras looks increasingly uncomfortable in. “Okay, girls time,” says Eponine, who definitely just wants to put her arm around Cosette. Grantaire rolls his eyes and snaps a photo of Cosette faking a kiss on Eponine's cheek and Eponine not faking a blush._ _

__“It’s a good one,” assures Grantaire, but then Cosette is saying _“Boys time!”_ and pushing Enjolras and Grantaire together, and she’s just about to take it when she gives them a disappointed look and says “At least _act_ like you like each other.” Enjolras feels naked. Grantaire wishes Enjolras was. _ _

__He awkwardly puts his arm around Enjolras’ waist in one stiff movement, and Enjolras doesn't move until Eponine starts counting down - and then he throws two fingers up behind Grantaires head. They take another one and Cosette hands them out, pleased with how they developed._ _

__“Wasn’t the point of this supposed to be for ‘modelling purposes?’” Enjolras mutters, and Cosette gives him a look._ _

__“Would you like to keep taking pictures, dumbass?” Enjolras stops talking._ _

__

__The girls leave the panicked boys to their devices. Cosette hops in the front seat of Enjolras’ car and makes for the park. She whistles a tune that reminds Eponine of _something,_ she's sure, she’s heard it somewhere. It doesn't come to her, so she tries to forget about it. _ _

__In December, the sun sets at 4 pm and night falls quickly. Eponine, not anticipating a picnic, didn’t think to bring a jacket. She tries not to let Cosette notice how cold she gets, but the way her arms cross is less ‘typical moody Eponine’ and more ‘it's fifty degrees and i'm wearing a tank top.’ They settle on a spot in the grass and Cosette suavely slips her cashmere cardigan off and drapes it over Eponine's shoulders, not giving her time to object. The world, just before true night and just after the vibrant orange sunset, is a soft lilac that turns everything beneath it black. Except Cosette, whose dark skin glows blue. She catches Eponine staring._ _

__“What, ‘Ponine?” and Eponine is glad she cant see the way she's blushing._ _

__“Nothing, it's just, um, dark.” She watches Cosette’s white teeth reflect in the starlight as she cracks a smile._ _

___“You have no idea.”_ _ _

__

__In Grantaires apartment, things are not going as well. Enjolras, who easily offered himself up to model, is having trouble acting naturally. He’s stiff, rigid, the very antithesis of what renaissance artists tried to capture. Also, he can’t stop blushing, and when Grantaire tries to make small talk Enjolras can only respond in short increments._ _

__But the painting needs to get done, and he has to go sometime, so finally Grantaire just asks, “What's wrong?”_ _

__Enjolras looks unsure of what to say. He starts many times, and then restarts, and makes frustrated noises, until he just says “I’m nervous,” very quietly, almost incoherently._ _

__“Oh,” says Grantaire, because he’s not really sure why Enjolras would be nervous. It’s not like he’s the one who has to paint the man who he’s been inconsolably in love with for years. And, anyway, it’s just his apartment - his mediocre, shabby apartment - and it's just Grantaire, who has never posed any actual threat to Enjolras as far as he knows. “I'm nervous too,” he says, because he’s trying to be earnest._ _

__Enjolras laughs and Grantaire can see him relax a little over his easel. He decides to be bold. “Um, do you mind if I, uh,” he begins, approaching Enjolras._ _

__“Um,” he says, and he keeps saying um, because he’s positioning his body the way it needs to be, draped over his couch, his hair falling into his eyes, his chest pushed out, and, _yes,_ Grantaire thinks, _I have had wet dreams just like this._ “There,” he decides, “perfect.”_ _

__Enjolras blushes again (he’s not sure how to fix that, not yet) and he breathes out _“Like this?”_ And Grantaire _knows_ he’s genuinely just asking, he _knows_ Enjolras is just trying to get confirmation that he's doing a good job, but _god_ if it's not the most obscene thing he’s ever heard. All he can do is nod and retreat back to his easel, where, yes, he is in exactly the right position to be painted (and Grantaire is in exactly the wrong headspace). They slip into a comfortable silence until Enjolras asks “So, um, Eponine told me to ask you about accessibility?” _ _

__Grantaire laughs. _This is fine,_ he decides. _This is good._ _ _

__

__Cosette was right: Eponine has _no idea._ Cosette actually keeps up with, like, astronomy and stars and all that shit, and Cosette is telling her about meteoroids and meteorites and meteors as they rain from the sky. It is the clearest Eponine has ever seen Cosette, who has so many facts and information about space that she's machine-gunning through them quicker than Eponine can keep up, but it's okay. _It doesn't matter,_ Eponine smiles, _I just like the way her voice sounds._ Really, Cosette could be talking about anything - flowers, stars, the ocean, murders, gore, horror, drugs, bunnies, celebrities, _anything_ \- Eponine will always want to listen, will always be there to listen. _ _

__She huffs out a final word about some constellation, and turns to Eponine. “What do you think?”_ _

__Eponine lies down in the grass and watches the sky fall down, pretending that the apocalypse has started, pretending that the meteors are angels falling down._ _

__“Brilliant,” she breathes._ _

__She feels Cosette lay beside her. She hums a tune - this time, an unfamiliar, heavenly tune, and Eponine is very aware of where Cosette’s hand lays in the grass. Her spatial awareness could probably give coordinates to where it rests, right there, this longitude, this latitude, etc, etc. Eponine can smell her detergent. It’s like everything is everywhere, like every meteor is a part of Cosette falling down to earth, and she is the lucky mortal that gets to witness it all. Softly, slowly, subtly, she slips her hand into Cosettes._ _

__Nothing changes. The meteors keep falling. The world goes on turning. Cosette keeps humming. Eponine, suddenly, cannot remember a time when she wasn’t holding Cosette's hand, watching the heavens fall back down to Earth._ _

__

__“I'm not _so_ pretentious, that, like, I think art can save the world or anything,” Grantaire says carefully, “But it _is_ the reason that, like -”_ _

___“No,_ you _totally_ do think that, and you just don't want to admit it,” Enjolras interjects. He's laughing, he's making fun of him, like how Courfeyrac makes fun of Combeferre, or how Musichetta makes fun of Joly and Bossuet. He’d gladly contradict himself all day to make Enjolras tease him like that. _ _

__“I just mean art won't solve injustice, but it will, like, I don't know, give people a reason for waking up,” and he’s not sure how vulnerable you’re allowed to be with people who you’ve only sort of been friends with for, like, a week. “It’s like _Dead Poets Society_ -” and Grantaire knows he’s in for the worst (he always knows he’s in for the worst, otherwise he’d never be in it), because Enjolras lets out a cross between a yelp and a laugh._ _

__“God, did you just reference _Dead Poets Society?_ Cut the bullshit and just go volunteer at a soup kitchen, or something, R,” he laughs. Grantaire laughs, too. He looks over his easel at Enjolras, who is fingering through the leafs on his wreath. Enjolras looks back at him and gives him a smile that makes his apartment shine. _ _

__Painting him isn't hard. The basic outline is easy - he’s been drawing him for years, accidentally sketching a lock of blonde hair into an assignment, a strong hand, a quizzical brow. It comes naturally, so he's just about halfway done when he takes his first break. He makes coffee and warms up a slice of pie he snagged from Bahorel’s, and they share a snack on his couch in comfortable silence. When they're done, they sit together in each other's space for a moment. Enjolras’ leg is touching his - he is making no effort to pull it away. “R?” Enjolras speaks up._ _

__“Yeah, Apollo?” At this, Enjolras swats at his shoulder in mock annoyance, but doesnt pull it away, just lets it linger there._ _

__“What _do you_ wake up for?” Enjolras is looking at Grantaire. He is looking him in the eye, curiously, innocently. _ _

__Grantaire smirks because he can't help it, and he is still looking at Enjolras when he says “Art, I think.”_ _

__“You think?”_ _

___No._ “Mhm.” _ _

__Enjolras’ hand is on the back of Grantaire's neck, rubbing circles behind his ear. He really _does_ look so classic, like John William Godward’s wet dream (or, his own, whatever). Grantaire slowly lifts his own hand onto Enjolras’, who stops rubbing circles for a moment and looks at him, expectantly. Enjolras’ hands are rough, the kind of rough that didn't work a day in its life until it did, and then it couldn't stop because it forgot how to._ _

__But for now it has stopped, and it's beneath Grantaires, touching his skin, palm on palm like a prayer. Grantaire holds it for a moment, but then he mutters something about oil paint and puts it back into Enjolras’ lap. He silently collects their dishes and brings them back to the sink, returns to the canvas. _Because I am totally using him,_ he reminds himself, _He is doing a nice thing for his friend and I’m using him as masturbation material, fuck._ Enjolras is very quiet, glass-eyed when he peers at him over his easel. _ _

__

__The meteor shower ends, though, as all things do, and Eponine and Cosette are suddenly just girls holding hands in the dark, hearing the rest of the observers pack up, watching them leave, until it's just them left. “Eponine,” Cosette whispers._ _

__“Yeah, Cosette?”_ _

__“Nothing. I just like saying it.” And Eponine laughs, and cant stop laughing, because she’s always hated her name, but Cosette is laughing, shrieking “Eponine, Eponine!”_ _

__Her name sounds different in Cosette’s mouth, and she tries not to think of other scenarios in which Cosette might say her name like that._ _

__In the dark they’re like a couple of nymphs, bathing in the residue from falling starlight. Cosette is humming something and they dance without grace or elegance, in jumpy, bird-like motions. Eponine's hands are on Cosette's waist, and Cosette's hands are hard on her arms, and together they feel like a meteor._ _

__

__Grantaire finishes what he needs to finish an hour before the girls return, so he nervously shows Enjolras what he looks like as Apollo. It’s only the outline, not yet painted and colored and detailed. He can’t speak for a moment, can only look at the painting and then back down at himself, like a child seeing his reflection for the first time. For a long, horrifying moment, Grantaire worries that Enjolras despises it, can see right through him, never wants to see him again for whatever inexplicable reason._ _

__But then Enjolras says, _“It’’s wonderful.”_ Grantaire is truly shocked to hear Enjolras describe anything Grantaire does as _wonderful,_ so he continues. “I’ve never seen anything you’ve painted, I’ve never seen any finished work,” and Grantaire is astounded to hear it referred to as his _‘work.’_ It all still feels like a heartbroken doodle in a notebook, but Enjolras really thinks it's great, thinks that Grantaire is _talented_ and _valuable_ and - oh no._ _

__Suddenly, Grantaire is silently crying hot, wet tears, and he has never cried in front of Enjolras. _Fuck._ Enjolras’ expression falters when he sees Grantaire’s face, and he feels stupid wiping his tears in Cosettes ridiculous costume but he does it anyway, and he’s frantically apologizing, _“Sorry, sorry, I don't know anything about art, I-”__ _

__But in between sobs Grantaire is laughing, face red, because _he doesn't even know! He has never known! And it’s ridiculous!__ _

__“No, you fucking - I can’t believe - you _like it!”_ He vomits out, and Enjolras is frowning at him. _ _

__“Of course I do.” _Of course he does.__ _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi folks. this chapter exists bc i wanted to write a devil wears prada style make over scene w courf. enjoy

After Enjolras leaves, Grantaire lays staring at the painting for a long time. He thinks about how Enjolras let him position his body, how he drank his coffee, how he put his hand on his neck. He wonders, selfishly, if he also thought Grantaire his neck at odd hours of the night. 

_No,_ Grantaire would not allow that kind of thinking. Absolutely not. Grantaire is, at his core, lazy; it is much easier to never get his hopes up, and thus never get disappointed, than it is to relish a few moments of delusion and eventually get crushed by the awful reality of it all: Enjolras was _weird._ He did things that Grantaire didn’t understand, said things that Grantaire didn't _get_ \- he didn't have a grasp on personal space, common intimacy between friends. _Friends._ Grantaire would not allow himself to want anything more than that. The transition from rivals to kind-of friends would just have to do. He found himself thinking that the very closure he once yearned for is now too scary to seek out - he could not imagine, years from now, having forgotten about Enjolras and his own years of hopeless pining. Grantaire was not exaggerating when he said he was sure he would be in love with Enjolras forever, and then die. 

When Grantaire does eventually finish the painting a day or two later, he drops it off at Cosette’s residence (and tries not to be disappointed that Enjolras is away when he visits). He peers in for a moment, tries to imagine Enjolras lounging in one of the many upholstered sofas or curled up in a blanket. Cosette asks Grantaire to say hello to Eponine for her, but he barely hears it. It seemed like all of - _this, everything, all of it_ \- was rapidly building up to something and Grantaire could not bear to confront it, whatever it may be. 

The results came back a few days later, which happened to be the next meeting of Les Amis. Cosette pushed the cafe doors open and ran straight into Grantaires arms, waving the two tickets around for him to see. She was radiant _(she was always radiant,_ Eponine would think), lit up with excitement. She did a bouncy little dance around him, singing _“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”_ Her happiness was contagious, at least, and Grantaire couldn’t help but let out a laugh. She hugged him again, and from over her shoulder Enjolras gave them a hard look. Eponine entered the cafe in a frazzled state a few moments later, late from her diner shift, and was immediately bombarded by an overjoyed Cosette hugging her and stroking her hair. Enjolras began the meeting, something sour in his demeanor. 

After the meeting, the Combeferre is lecturing Enjolras _(probably about sustainable farming or poor orphans or something)_ while Grantaire sips wine. Marius sidles up next to him. “Hey, R,” he says good-naturedly, albeit a bit awkwardly - the two were never really close, and really only interacted because of Eponine.

“Hey, Marius,” Grantaire grins at him, excited to see what ridiculous reason Marius would have for approaching him (he was positive he frightened Marius, like how a rabid dog frightened a child). 

“So,” Marius starts. “Cosette and Eponine.”

_“Not quite,”_ Grantaire corrects him. “Not yet, anyway.” Marius nods, something clearly bothering him. 

“Sorry,” he adds, not sure how to cheer him up. To Grantaire, Marius was like an excitable, well-meaning puppy, whose mood rose and fell at the drop of a hat.

“‘S okay,” Marius assures. “I just wish I was better at… sensing these things, you know?”

“You didn't know about Eponine?” 

Marius shakes his head. “And Courfeyrac only told me a few days ago about Enjolras -”

_“What.”_

Marius gave him a frightened look. He had not forgotten about Eponine in that club. Grantaire and Eponine were kind of the same, Marius thinks, _which is not good for me._

_“Enjolras is gay. What.”_ Grantaire continues slowly, except he doesn’t really ask it, just kind of states it, and Marius nods quickly, makes a strangled noise, and turns briskly out of the cafe. He thinks he should maybe just assume everyone is gay until proven straight. 

_What._

Grantaire had gotten a _vibe,_ a _whiff,_ sure - but he had rejected them as mere fantasies, delusions. He just thought Enjolras didn’t know about social boundaries between friends. _His hand on his neck, brushing shoulders, wiping his tears_ \- Grantaire could have died not knowing that. He would have gladly died not knowing it, because that makes everything that much harder. It's harder for Grantaire to remain pessimistic now. For once, cynicism was not something that came easy. 

He lets out a mad, wild bark of a laugh and leaves the cafe because, _god,_ for the first time he cannot stand the smell of liquor. 

Enjolras watched him leave with a knit brow. This only further aggravated Combeferre, who was behaving as though he was scolding a child for leaving the water running in the bath. Enjolras suppressed a desire to roll his eyes, and then realized that he was becoming far more like Grantaire than he knew. 

A few tables away, Cosette and Eponine were chatting. 

“So, tickets,” Cosette excitedly waved them. 

“Yes, you’ve mentioned,” said Eponine, teasingly, “Who are you taking?” 

Cosette gave her a confused look. “Um. I thought you? I thought. Uh. I just kind of assumed -”

“Oh, you actually - okay. Yeah, I’d want to go. Thank you,” said Eponine, trying to stay calm, cool, and collected. She really didn't care about any orchestral concert, but Cosette liked it, and Eponine liked Cosette. 

_“Wait._ Shit, when is it?” Eponine bit her lip while Cosette studied the tickets.

“The 22nd?” _Damnit._

“No, actually, I want to, but I really, really, cant, because, um, well. Gavroche, my brother, he’s in this play and uh, I really have to go,” Eponine explained, trying to make caring for your siblings seem cool and attractive and also trying to hide her disappointment. 

Cosette looked at her with wide-eyes, unfazed. “Okay. We can go to your brother's play. I don't really care what we do, honestly.” 

“Cosette, arent tickets to these dudes like, really expensive? And don't you really love them? This could be a once in a lifetime opportunity, you really don't -”

“Oh my god, I don't really care about symphonies or anything, I just wanted to win these so I could go without Enjolras and piss him off.” She was laughing now, “your brother's thing honestly sounds more entertaining. And I guess I’ll be a good sister and just give them to Enjolras.” 

This development interested Eponine. “You’re giving them to Enjolras?” Cosette nodded absentmindedly. The 22nd was gearing up to be a big night. 

At next week's meeting, Eponine came early and sat next to Enjolras, weaseling in between him and Combeferre. 

“So,” she began.

“Hi, ‘Ponine,” said Enjolras, who was becoming less and less weirded out by Eponine randomly appearing at odd times. 

_“So,”_ said Eponine, who did not like to be interrupted. “Cosette gave you those tickets, right?” Enjolras nodded but Eponine didn't wait for an answer. “I know exactly who you should go with. I actually have a powerpoint on why you should take them. It’s a very sound argument.” 

“Uh, sorry, ‘Ponine, but I um. I already know who I’m taking.” This confused Eponine. This could throw off the whole plan. 

“What? No, I didn't mean me - um, who are you taking?” 

Nonchalantly, Enjolras replied “Grantaire.” Eponine studied him hard. He was _not_ nonchalant. He was sweating.

“Okay.” Honestly, she was a little disappointed. What was the point of this plan if she couldn't even be an actual wingman for Grantaire? It's no fun when you don't _need_ help getting your crush to like you. _Whatever._

“Okay.” 

And Eponine left Enjolras to wait for Grantaire at their usual table. 

Grantaire wants to turn in immediately after the meeting, so Eponine has to really turn on the charm to make him stay any longer (she actually just says _please_ and buys him a pastry). But Enjolras is being a real pussy and she can’t make Grantaire stay forever. She’s considering tying him to his chair when Enjolras finally approaches them, tugging at his coat ends.

“For fucks sake,” mutters Eponine, and then she pretends to be very interested in the flooring. 

“Hi,” says Grantaire.

“Hi, says Enjolras.

“So,” says Grantaire.

“So-”

“Did you have something for us, Enjolras?” Interjects Eponine, not-so-politely. 

“Uh, yes. I, uh. Um. Cosette gave me those tickets to the orchestra. On the 22nd. Um. Next week. Next tuesday, I think, but it might be a wednesday, actually, um. Doyouwanttogwithme.” It all comes out very quickly. 

Grantaire makes a noise. “Um - you want to go with me? Um. Don't you think like, Combeferre is probably more suitable? Or Jehan? He really likes um. This stuff. Or, like, uh, Courfeyrac - they all seem, um, more stimulating than me and-”

And Eponine has a really, really bad problem with laughing. Her face is red. She can't stop herself from letting out this awful screech of a laugh, and she's burying her head in her arms on the table, trying to hide it all because it really feels like she's watching a car crash, except the cars are clown cars, and also everything is on fire. _Theyre both so stupid! So willfully ignorant! And I am doing everything I can but they are just_ so _stupid!_

She just can't stop laughing. Tears are ruining her mascara, she is having trouble breathing, her cheeks burn. Finally rising from her chair, she wipes her eyes. Behind her, Cosette sits, beaming. 

“Um,” she mumbles out, between fits of giggles. “Um, there was. A TV show. _Friends._ It was on last night, I just. It's a great program, I was just, um, remembering something. Fantastic program. _Friends._ You should catch it.”

Marius is having PTSD flashbacks. Grantaire’s head is spinning. 

Eponine was definitely not watching _Friends_ last night, because she hates _Friends,_ and also because he knows for a fact she was running lines with Gavroche. Eponine, still laughing, takes Cosette's hand and leaves the cafe. 

_Okay. Whatever_ that _was about._

“Uh. Anyway. Uh. You don't want to go?” Enjolras asks him.

_Oh. That's what thats about._ Really, Grantaire decides, he should just have a tiny Eponine laughing at him at all times in his head, because then maybe he’d be smarter. Whatever. 

“No - uh, well, yes, I want to go, yes. I just. Didn't think you’d, um.” For once, Grantaire tries to think about what he should say before he says it. “I didn’t think you’d ask me.”

“Oh, well. I did.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says, because he’s an idiot.

“So, uh, the 22nd then? 4 pm? My place?” And Grantaire is nodding, trying not to fuck it all up again.

“Cool,” Enjolras is grinning.

“Cool,” Grantaire is grinning.

Marius is very concerned.

Eponine _doesn't_ wing things. Well, she doesnt wing things _like this,_ anyway. She is _constantly_ vigilant and _always_ prepared for everything - even when she isn't. So, two days before the not-date, she calls Grantaire.

“I have _nothing_ to wear.”

“Do too,” he says automatically, then thinks for a second. “Probably.”

“No, I _actually_ have nothing to wear. And neither do you, because you’re going to see a _professional orchestra_ and I know for a fact you were just going to wear a dumbass hoodie.” It's true, he _was_ just going to wear a dumbass hoodie. 

“Well, we don't have money, so-”

“We could shoplift…?”

“Actually, we can't, because if we get arrested two days before our not-dates then we'll never actually attend them.”

“Okay, good point.” There's silence on both ends as they ponder their options - not that there are too many. 

“You know what, um. Be at my apartment in ten minutes with your best wardrobe, I actually have an idea.” Eponine opens her mouth to object, but Grantaire’s already hung up. _Grantaire_ and _ideas_ don't usually mix well. 

She is there in ten minutes, though, with her best wardrobe, because she is always prepared, especially now, when she’s not. 

Grantaire opens the door to her with freshly washed hair and a smile. “Great. Courf will be on his way in, like, five.” She quirks an eyebrow at him, and he just says, “Trust me.” Easier said than done. 

Courfeyrac arrives in seven minutes, and, inexplicably, Combeferre is with him. Courfeyrac does not wait for an invitation to enter Grantaire’s apartment. 

“Okay, R, ‘Ponine, I would like to see our options here.” Eponine actually relaxes - Courfeyrac has the air of somebody who knows what they're doing.

Their wardrobes are spread out on the bed and Courfeyrac is studying them pointedly. Combeferre is studying Courfeyrac pointedly. It's all very intense. 

“R, you’re going to a _professional orchestra,_ and you plan on wearing _a hoodie?”_ Grantaire blushes and Eponine gives him a smug look. 

“Okay. So in two days it's both of your prospective first dates right?” Eponine and Grantaire make to object, but Courfeyrac shushes them. _“Don't_ argue. Because in 40 years, when you have a mortgage, you’ll look at pictures in a scrapbook and think of it as your first date. _Sorry.”_

Eponine screws her face up at the thought of owning a mortgage, and Grantaire screws his face up at the thought of living past 27. 

_“Anyway,_ when you look back on the outfit you wore on your first date with the love of your life -” Grantaire and Eponine make faces. “- You want to look good.” 

“So, Courf, what's the plan?” Asks Combeferre, only half embarrassed by his partner. 

Courfeyrac presses his lips together hard, considering possible courses of action. He could try to summon clothes using black magic, or maybe manifest them with superpowers. “Okay. Romcom-style shopping montage. Immediately.” 

Grantaire groans. He’s never liked shopping; it takes too long, it's sweaty, it's disappointing. Eponine makes no noise. She’s just happy not to have to shoplift from Hot Topic anymore. 

“Courf, there's no way I'm wearing this to my little brother's production of _The Wizard of Oz,”_ Eponine says, gesturing to the electric blue fit and flare he's stuffed her in. “And besides, Cosette is going to take one look at me and know you put me in this.” 

“First of all, that's a compliment. And fine, okay, if you want something more subtle,” he rifles through a pile of clothes, until Combeferre pulls out a bronzy-green number. “Yes, thank you, ‘Ferre,” he says passively, handing it to Eponine and knocking on Grantaire's dressing room. “R, whatever it is, I’m sure you look _fine.”_

From inside, Grantaire sighs. It’s weird to see himself in something that isn't sweatpants and a t-shirt. The slacks and sweater Courfeyrac put him in feel like something a golf dad would wear.

“I don't know, man…” he says, stepping out. Courfeyrac looks at him for a long time, then nods. 

“Yeah, okay, not my finest work, admittedly. You look like my uncle,” he trails off, trifling through a different pile of clothes (there are 5: _womens, mens, gender neutral, should be gender neutral, gender negative,_ and then one Courfeyrac just refers to as _“The Sexy”)._ He’s in pile #5. 

“Throw this on, see how it works.” He hands him a canvas collared shirt and slack set in a grayish brown. Just then, Eponine steps out in her dress and a smile. Grantaire is impressed at Courfeyac’s efforts - Eponine looks effortlessly breathtaking, like a little fairy in the satin skirt and capped sleeve. More importantly, she looks pleased, an impossible feat.

“Okay, yeah, I think this is the one, probably,” she says, attempting to sound grateful while still nonchalant. Really, she sounds like an excited teenager, but Grantaire lets her have her fun. 

Courfeyrac nods, but as Grantaire heads back into his dressing room he hears him mutter something to her about penny loafers.

Already sure that Courfs attempts to make him over Clueless-style are futile, Grantaire begrudgingly pulls the clothes on, and - wow, okay. Grantaire, for the first time in years, feels _cool._ Actually cool, like people on the street would turn their heads at him. _I look like I’m in a music video,_ he thinks. _I look like I’m in a target commercial._

“R!” Barks Courfeyrac outside the door. 

Grantaire smoothly opens the door and steps outside, acutely aware of each step _(is this how ladies feel when they wear heels?)_ and shows Courfeyrac. He clasps his hands together like a mad scientist looking at his creation. Combeferre stands up and throws his arm around him. “Wow, Courf,” he nods. “Some of your best work yet, I think.” 

Courfeyrac gives him a wet kiss on the cheek and picks up a rich dark green coat from pile #3, draping it over Grantaire's shoulders. “Perfect,” he whispers, when they hear a familiar voice floating from down the hall. 

_“You still have the painting, right? You get to keep it?”_

It takes a moment for it to click in everybody's head that it's Cosette and Enjolras.

_“Shit. Fuck. Oh my god,”_ swears Courfeyrac, ushering Eponine and Grantaire back into their dressing rooms. “Get back inside _now,_ get back inside, they are _literally down the hall, oh my god,”_ he continues. 

“But it's just -” begins Eponine, but Courfeyrac shushes them harshly and shuts the door to their dressing rooms, while Combeferre watches him, thoroughly amused. It’s just in time, too, because Cosette and Enjolras have just approached. 

“Oh, Courf!” Chimes Cosette _(Cosette!)._

“Oh, Ferre, Courf, what are you two… doing here…” Enjolras _(Enjolras!)_ says, noticing the five piles strewn about the hallway. 

“Shopping,” Courfeyrac replies automatically. 

“Mhm,” agrees Combeferre. Really, what did Enjolras expect them to say?

“Okay.”

“Okay.” An uncomfortable silence. In their dressing rooms, Grantaire and Eponine are actively crying, trying to hold in laughter that might give them away.

“So, you two are also shopping?” Eases Combeferre.

“Mhm!” hums Cosette happily. “We both have something in a few days, we’re both kind of excited, actually,” she continues, but Enjolras bumps her shoulder. 

“Yeah, we just, uh, want to look good, you know?”

“I _always_ know,” replies Courfeyrac, “in fact, I _understand_ what you’re saying, and I can _help_ you shop, you know, I know…” his voice trails off as he walks them out of the dressing room and back into the merchandise. 

Combeferre opens the dressing room to Eponine and Grantaire, who can finally erupt with laughter. “Okay, folks, you can come out now,” he begins, and when they begin to ask why they had to do _whatever that was,_ he just says, “Courf wants your outfits to be... surprises. The surprise is ruined if they already know. Like a prom scene in a movie.”

“Everything is like a movie to Courf,” mutters Grantaire, and Combeferre just shrugs.

Eponine is, in the most literal sense, running on empty. After class, she had a shift at the restaurant, then she had to drop off Gavroche (after running through any last minute lines), and then pick up groceries, which only left her with an hour to get ready and pick up Grantaire. Eponine only uses her parent’s car if they're out of town and it's a special occasion. The Thenardiers care far more about it than they do about her or Gavroche, so if anything so much as scratches it, she’s fucked. Luckily, the Thenardiers are never home. 

Eponine had spent the last two days pondering what to do with her hair. It's too long and thick to do anything with, and she doesn't like the way a ponytail stretches her face. She knows she is definitely spending too much time thinking about it, especially because Cosette likes her long hair anyway, but she keeps pulling and prodding at it until she decides to just roll it up at the base of her neck and pin it in place. She studies herself in the uneven fluorescence of her bathroom (a light had gone out, and she hadn’t had time to fix it). She lets a sigh escape her, blinking her eyes so she won’t ruin her mascara. 

The tiles are brown where they separated from each other, and long black strands of hair swirl at the bottom of her sink. She’s not sure when her reflection began frowning. The mirror is dirty.

She realizes then that Cosette had never actually been to her house. She remembers the outside of her and Enjolras’ apartment and it seemed nicer than Grantaires. Cosette seems so _clean, polished_ \- Eponine thinks, for a horrifying moment, that she has been conning Cosette into thinking she’s just like her and not the slumdog she feels like, stuck to the vinyl vanity stool. _The dress is really a costume,_ she thinks, _that Courf payed for._ She wonders if she is pitied, if Les Amis only pretended not to notice how she sometimes shows up late, smelling like frier grease. She’s feeling an awful lot like Grantaire, self loathing and cynical, when her alarm goes off, reminding her to go.

She shakes any doubt out of her head and pulls some hair from her crown to frame her face. _Fine,_ she thinks, because it's not perfect, but it's fine, all of it. 

When she gets to Grantaire's apartment, she doesn't even make it to the door before he exits, looking suave at first glance. At second glance, you could see that beneath his sunglasses his face was flushed and his hands were clammy, but so long as you only looked once, he was smooth. When they first see each other, they give each other the pavlovian, automatic best friend smile, and then they just give each other panicked stares, silently communicating to each other _‘what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.’_

Grantaire wont stop messing with his hair in the car. 

“Leave it, R, you look fine,” and he does, but Grantaire doesnt leave it.

“That's easy to say when everyone already knows Cosette is in love with you,” Grantaire replies automatically, and it doesn't quite calm Eponine like he hoped. 

“Whatever,” she says, and then they're at their apartment door.

Neither of them will ring the doorbell.

“They're _definitely_ dressed better than us,” says Eponine.

“Indubitably,” concurs Grantaire, and then, “and probably super effortless. Like they just put on the first thing they saw and it happened to be incredible.”

“And they’re probably not even worried,” Eponine adds, examining her nail polish. Actually, Eponine thought Enjolras was probably having a fit right now, but Cosette was definitely just chilling. Calm, cool, collected. 

“They're _definitely_ not worried,” he agrees.

A nervous silence. “What if Cosette tries to kiss you?” Asks Grantaire in a childish voice, trying to tease her out of her discomfort. It doesn't work.

_“Shut up,”_ she whines, embarrassed, “You _know_ that won't happen, R.”

“Unless…” he doesn't let up, twisting a poking finger onto one of her arms, which are suddenly crossed. Eponine scoffs.

“Okay, _R, _what if it happens to you?” And Grantaire hesitates just a beat _(win!)_ before he slips into his _‘fuck-you’_ voice and innocently responds, “What if Cosette kisses me?” __

__Eponine feels like Enjolras when she pinches the bridge of her nose. _“Oh my god, shithead -_ What if Enjolras leans in a little too close, huh? What stupid quip are you going to bark then?” _ _

__Grantaire frowns. That scenario feels a bit too familiar for comfort. _Deja-vu._ He decides to ignore her because he actually has no idea what he’d do (does he ever?)._ _

___“I’m just saying,”_ he continues, “It’s easier when you’re a girl. She’ll probably say something about your lipgloss -”_ _

__“I’m not wearing -”_ _

__“Okay, lipstick, whatever, and, uh, she’ll probably say it looks nice, and you have to say something like _‘Want a swatch?’_ It's irresistible. I think I saw that in a netflix original. Maybe it was a porno, actually, but -” and Eponine lets out a groan. _ _

__“That’s the dumbest shit you’ve ever said.”_ _

__He tucks his hands behind his back proudly. “Wrong again, ‘Ponine. I say dumber shit than this all the time.”_ _

__Just as Eponine opens her mouth to respond, the sound of Cosette and Enjolras bickering begins to leak through the door. _“...and you used all my hairspray, Enj, now what!”_ _ _

__Before they hear something they don't want to hear, Grantaire surprises Eponine and knocks. The bickering stops. Footsteps like dictators can be heard clicking on the floor. Grantaire is considering jumping off the railing when the door finally opens. It’s Enjolras._ _

__“Grantaire,” he says, and then, “Eponine.”_ _

__They offer him a nervous smile (because they aren’t really capable of having a normal smile right now) and he doesn't say anything, just looks for a moment, his mouth stuck in a permanent ‘o’ shape. And then Cosette is at his side, radiant as ever, saying “Come in, come in, we’ll take pictures!”_ _

__Enjolras and Grantaire don't know what to say to each other. Granted, they never know what to say to each other, but now more so than ever. Cosette and Eponine at least have the brains to compliment each other's outfits; Cosette remarks on Eponine's dress (actually, she makes several remarks, mostly along the lines of, _“It’s gorgeous!” “It’s incredible!” “You look like a princess!”)_ and Eponine nervously tells her she looks pretty. Enjolras and Grantaire, though, have done little more than exchange awkward hellos. _ _

__The girls are all a flurry though, pushing and pulling everyone around to take pictures, touching up their makeup, exchanging hushed words and giggling, until finally they're out the door with Eponine wishing them luck with a smile and a wink. The concert starts an hour later than Gavroche’s show, so fortunately (or, maybe, unfortunately) Enjolras and Grantaire have some time to kill. Enjolras keeps _looking_ at Grantaire, and half of Grantaire feels like a giddy pubescent girl at the football captains house and the other half is worried that maybe Enjolras thinks he looks stupid, or that he can totally tell Courfeyrac picked it out, or -_ _

__“You look really nice,” says Enjolras. It's the first time they really make eye contact all night._ _

__“Um, thanks. You too,” replies Grantaire, but then he notices that Enjolras’ tie is crooked, so he fixes it (because he is a good friend and _not_ a whore). Enjolras makes a noise in his throat and Grantaire can feel his skin turn hot. It is _so much_ to be so close to his neck, close enough that he could just pull him close and kiss him and not think twice about it if he wanted to - but he can't, and so he doesn't, just lets his tie go, and Enjolras takes a step away. _ _

__“I don't think you’ve ever been in our apartment before,” he says, shifting the attention. “It was just gonna be Cosette’s, and I was going to room with Combeferre, but then ‘Ferre and Courf got together, so, yeah.”_ _

__Grantaire _hadn’t_ ever actually been inside their apartment. It was very clean, but it was also disorganized in a charming way, with books strewn everywhere - some half open - and several vases of flowers on various surfaces, and pictures (courtesy of Cosette’s polaroid) taped up or lying on desks and coffee tables. Above the fireplace hung the depiction of Apollo Grantaire painted. It was encased in a dark brown vintage frame. On either side a polaroid was mounted - on the right, one of Eponine and Cosette, and on the left, Enjolras and Grantaire. _ _

__“You… kept these?” Grantaire asks. Enjolras blushes._ _

__“It’s not like I would have just _thrown them away,”_ he replies defensively. _ _

__Grantaire likes to touch things. He likes to run his fingers over book covers, feel the petals on flowers, dig his fingers into the grooves in the wood, and Enjolras watches his hands intently, knowing that Grantaire doesn’t even notice he is doing it. When he does, he pulls away._ _

__“Oh, uh, sorry,” he says, but Enjolras just shakes his head._ _

__“‘S fine, I don't mind.”_ _

__Enjolras decides to brew some coffee in the kitchen, and when he comes back Grantaire is sitting on the couch with a book on classical architecture. Enjolras grins; he had bought it yesterday, and strategically placed it on the coffee table where he knew Grantaire wouldn't miss it. Grantaire looks up at him when he notices him in the doorway._ _

__“Enj, look at this. You know, when they made this, it’s original purpose…” and Grantaire goes on about the ways the Greeks made pillars and pipes and crafted sculptures, until their coffee grows cold. Enjolras doesn’t really catch everything he says, though; for once, he just enjoys Grantaire talking without thinking too much about it. Suddenly, the alarm on his phone rings, reminding him to leave for the concert._ _

___“Shit,_ sorry,” he says, turning it off. “Guess it's time to go.”_ _

__Grantaire nods and pulls on his coat. Enjolras watches him because he can't help himself._ _

__“You really _do_ look good, R,” he says earnestly. Grantaire beams._ _


	6. Chapter 6

Cosette can instantly tell which one is Gavroche. He and Eponine have the same little, flat nose, the same judging eyes, and this she whispers to her. Gavroche is the scarecrow, which is funny to Eponine because Gavroche is kind of raggedy like a scarecrow anyway. 

Really, Gavroche is absolutely _stealing the spotlight._ Eponine swells with sisterly pride - not that it makes up for the sleep she lost rehearsing with him for the last month. Still, it’s nice. 

_It’s nice -_ Cosette is grinning and leaning over, whispering some remark into Eponine's ear. _It's nice -_ Eponine is giggling quietly, trying not to draw attention. _It’s nice,_ Cosette hovers near Eponine’s face, brushing her shoulder with her chin for the rest of the show, making remarks, trying to make her laugh. _It's nice -_ Eponine brushes Cosette’s nose with hers when she turns to look at her, and _it's nice -_ Cosette never moves so much as an inch away so it keeps happening, over and over.

_It’s nice,_ thinks Eponine, when the Wicked Witch of the West lets out a particularly shrill shriek that makes Cosette jolt her hand onto Eponine's arm, like it's natural. It's all so domestic. It's all so _nice._

Her hand is still there. Eponine is suddenly not so bold, because when she held Cosette’s hand beneath the meteor shower it was dark, and they didn't mention it, and they didn't even really look at each other. Well, it’s not so pitch-black as it is just kind of dim, because it’s a middle school auditorium and the lights don't actually go all the way off, and Cosette keeps _smiling at her_ (which, honestly, is kind of unfair, considering Gavroche is definitely going to ask Eponine what she thought about every scene on the way home, and how is she supposed to focus when Cosette keeps looking at her like that?) 

A fun, jittery song starts up and Cosette is wiggling her shoulders in mock dance and Eponine is joining her and honestly Eponine has never really been particularly fond of dancing (especially in front of judgey PTA moms), but with Cosette it's easy. The song ends and Cosette fails to suppress a giggle, relaxing against Eponine's shoulder. 

Eponine is _mostly_ cool, calm, and collected, like, 95% of the time, which is probably more often than anyone else on Earth. She is _mostly_ uncaring and unaffected. She is _constantly vigilant_ and _prepared for anything_ \- except for when she isn't. She wonders if Cosette can feel her stiffen against her cheek, and, _oh god,_ she can feel her eyelashes blink against her skin. 

_Fuck,_ she thinks, _we haven’t even gotten to intermission._

When Grantaire rides shotgun in Enjolras’ car, the silence between them is potent. Grantaire doesn't really know what to say, so he asks, “Music?” like some sort of neanderthal.

Enjolras nods quickly, and connects his phone to the car radio. He taps his phone a few times and puts on the first song he sees. _Fast Car_ by Tracy Chapman. 

Grantaire didn't expect Enjolras to be an avid listener of lesbian anthems. He also didn’t expect him to ask him to the concert, but it seems the world has been filled with magic lately (or terror, but it's hard for him to tell). 

“You listen to this?” asks Grantaire incredulously. Grantaire couldn’t really imagine Enjolras listening to music at all, honestly, except for maybe long, boring multi-movement symphonic suites. The thought of Enjolras at a club puts a smile on Grantaire's face. 

“Oh, sorry, uh, if you don't like it, the knob to change it is -”

“No, Tracy Chapman is, uh… cool,” Grantaire forgets that Enjolras thinks that he hates him. “I just didn't know you were a fan.”

“Oh, I’m not really,” he says nonchalantly, “but Cosette listens to it a lot on her stereo, and I just started listening to it, too.” 

_Cosette. Tracy Chapman. The CD. Cosette has the CD. Cosette has the CD and she listens to it. Holy shit._ Grantaire feels like he just aced a test (he _probably_ feels like that, because he honestly doesn’t have any idea what that feels like). _Eponines gonna flip her shit._

“Cosette?” He finds himself saying, and he reminds himself to be careful not to let Enjolras know Eponine is madly in love with his sister - that is, if he’s magically still oblivious. 

Enjolras gives him a look that Grantaire has never seen on him before. Usually Enjolras’ looks are _pointed_ or _hard_ or _exasperated_ or, at best, _amused._ But Enjolras looks something like defeated, which is even more unnerving, because Enjolras is never defeated. Grantaire doesn’t really know how to respond, so he doesn't. 

While they're sitting at a light, Grantaire is pondering how to break the silence when Enjolras says, “I’ve never seen you wear that before.”

That feeling of suaveness Grantaire reveled in left him immediately upon meeting Enjolras at his apartment because Enjolras always looks good. After getting over the shock that Enjolras actually pays attention to what Grantaire wears, he casually says, “Oh, uh, yeah, it's new.” And then he feels like that was the lamest answer he could have given, so he adds, “Courf picked it. I went shopping with him. And Eponine. And ‘Ferre. Actually, ‘Ferre was just kind of _there,_ like Courfs assistant, but, uh. Yeah. This is from pile #5,” like Enjolras is supposed to know what pile #5 is. 

He does. “Sexy pile,” he grins.

“He just calls it _‘The Sexy,’_ actually, I think. You go shopping with Courf?” 

“Sometimes,” he admits, “but he usually just gives me his old clothes. I don't actually put much energy into that sort of thing.” 

“I couldn't tell,” murmurs Grantaire, and then, louder, “No, actually, I genuinely couldn't tell, you always look very. Um. Handsome.” 

Enjolras’ eyes are very wide on the road. “Um. Thanks,” he enunciates, and then it's quiet again, so he says, “I went shopping with him recently. With Cosette.”

Before Grantaire can stop himself, he says “I know,” like that's supposed to be at all normal and not stalker-ish. “We were, uh, shopping with him that day too, and uh, we saw you coming and he, uh… hid us in a dressing room.” 

Enjolras almost swerves, because he remembers that day, and he was talking about - _shit._ “You were?” He tries to ask coolly, which Enjolras most definitely is not. “What did - um. You must not have seen much of us if we didn't see you, then.”

Grantaire can tell Enjolras is embarrassed and he _loves_ when Enjolras is embarrassed. He also loves it when Enjolras is in a position where he literally cannot avoid Grantaire’s bullshit. He turns to him, his elbow propped on the car window, holding his chin. “We actually heard… a lot…” He thinks he says with mock horror, but maybe Grantaire is just a fantastic actor because Enjolras’ face goes pale. 

“Oh?” He asks, and maybe it’s just because of, like, road safety, or something, but Grantaire is sure that Enjolras is making a point to not look at him. And Grantaire should really let up, he knows he should, but he can't. 

“It was… enlightening… to say the least…” but his unrepressed smirk gives up his facade and Enjolras steals a look at him, and after a moment of confused panic, he asks, “Wait, Grantaire - you’re fucking with me, aren't you?” 

Grantaire’s grin only grows. 

_“R,_ oh my god, you -” and he lets out a familiar trumpet of a laugh, and says, “That was _mean.”_

Grantaire is worried for a moment that maybe it _was_ mean, but Enjolras is still laughing. “You’re so cute when you think you’re in peril,” he only half-jokes.

Enjolras bites his lip. “That was _mean,”_ he repeats, and Grantaire is not quite sure what he’s referring to anymore. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, turning away from Enjolras and back to the road, which has fallen dark. 

Intermission finally comes, and Eponine quickly says something about having to piss, and she flees to the bathroom (it stinks, because it's a public middle school bathroom, but Eponine hardly notices). She plops down in a stall and bites her nails. Old habits.

She checks her phone. 6:00. Eponine is _pretty sure_ the orchestral concert doesn't begin for another five minutes. She decides to text Grantaire. 

EPONINE: r oh my god oh my god  
she put her head on my shoulder  
my nose touched hers holy shit  
what??? do i do????

While she waits for Grantaire to respond, she studies some classic bathroom stall vandalism. Somebody with a sharpie is calling Emily a slut. _Give ‘em hell, Emily_ , Eponine muses, and then Grantaire responds.

GRANTAIRE: THE LIPGLOSS THING  
THE LIPGLOSS THING BRO  
ITS IRRESISTIBLE

EPONINE: oh my god no  
the solution is not always in shitty cable tv porn 

GRANTAIRE: not with that attitude

Realizing that Grantaire would be no help, and also that maybe she should get better friends _(like maybe ‘Ferre or Feuilley or Michelle Obama,_ she thinks), she whispers _fuck._ She is fucked. She laughs. She is _fucked._

GRANTAIRE: g2g enjolras is looking at me  
hey why is he looking at me lol  
BEFORE I FORGET: COSETTE HAS THE CD SHE LISTENS TO IT ALL THE TIME ACCORDING TO ENJOLRAS AND I THINK THATS RLLY GAY

Eponine would be better off not knowing that, actually, because she feels a lightness pulling on her chest in a mix of intense mortification and unyielding happiness. She remembers the familiar tune Cosette hummed in the car, the day they had their picnic. She was humming _Fast Car,_ she realized. Eponine can’t help the smile that she melts into. 

In all fairness, if it fell out in Cosette's car, the title “EPONINE'S TUNEZ 4 COSETTE” was probably very enticing. Eponine usually does not appreciate hope, but she has to agree with Grantaire, listening to _Tracy Chapman_ and _Janice Ian_ and _Melissa Etheridge_ on a CD your lady friend burned for you is, admittedly, very gay.

GRANTAIRE: anyway its starting  
good luck getting lucky ;)))

Eponine rolls her eyes. Getting lucky tonight would be no more than surviving it, probably. But there's an announcement over the speakers about intermission being over soon, and Eponine, defeated, stands up. She is _fucked._

“That was a quick, uh, piss,” says Cosette when she’s back in her seat. 

“Not really,” Eponine defends herself quickly, and then makes a face because upon reflection it was a really weird thing to say. “The line was short,” she adds. Calm, cool, and collected. Cosette nods. 

“Hey,” leans in Cosette, and Eponine can smell her perfume. _White shoulders._ She’s not sure why she knows that. “I think we’re surrounded by people who hate us,” she nods at the exasperated adults who have been giving them tired looks all evening. _Wait, I’m an adult, too,_ thinks Eponine disgustedly.

“They’re just jealous,” she assures Cosette, who gives her a happy, confused look. 

“Of what?” And then Eponine takes a little too long to respond, because the curtain is pulling back up and the lights are dimming. 

She doesn't lean back on Eponine's shoulder like she did in the first act, and Eponine is both disappointed and relieved. _Okay, I can deal with this,_ she lies to herself, because she can't, because Cosette is yawning and putting her arm around her, like theyre in a bad movie. Eponine thinks of Grantaire. 

Okay, maybe the solution to everything _is_ in shitty cable TV porn. 

Grantaire _really_ hopes Enjolras is having a good time. They're the only people there younger than 40, and Grantaire really can't make any snide commentary about instrumental music, and even if he could he’s sure one harsh look from any of the music snobs sitting next to him would send him home crying. At least the music is good (probably), except Grantaire doesn't know anything about orchestral suites to effectively judge them. Not that it makes much of a difference - he’s been watching Enjolras for the past half hour. He’s hard to read, but he’s pretty sure Enjolras is having a good time. That makes one of them.

The concert is so _boring._ Grantaire thinks it would be better if the conductor told jokes or something, or maybe if the musicians wore funky outfits, but it's been nearly 45 minutes and they've only played 5 songs and the thought of _two more hours of this_ is almost unbearable. Almost. Grantaire resists a sigh. _Eponine would hate every second of this,_ he thinks. 

He decides that it’s been far too long without any chaos. He turns to Enjolras and doesn't say anything, but he knows Enjolras can see him looking at him. He makes his gaze harder, more challenging, because he just wants Enjolras to look at him, damnit. Enjolras takes the hint and turns, giving Grantaire a nervous look. 

Grantaire doesn't say anything (because of the scary music snobs), but once again he’s sure the two of them share some psychic wave because after a moment of eye contact, Enjolras is giving him an empathetic look and mouthing _“I know, right?”_

Its not fair, a voice in Grantaire’s head whines, _Eponine gets to watch a stupid little play and whisper to Cosette all night long and I can’t even cross my legs without someone throwing me an ugly glance._ As if on cue, the man sitting next to Enjolras gives them a stern look. Grantaire raises his eyebrows at Enjolras, who bites his lip, hard, and Grantaire thinks it's weird until he realizes he’s stifling a laugh, and god, if they didn't like him shifting in his seat they must hate this. He wonders what the odds are of getting kicked out for coughing too loudly. 

He gives Enjolras’ sleeve a tug as the song ends and the conductor bows to the audience. In the midst of applause, he leans in and decides to be bold. 

_“Wanna get out of here?” He asks, trying his hardest to sound cool. Enjolras nods quickly, and then the two of them are pushing past knees for the exit. Grantaire is very aware that Enjolras’ hand is on his back, steadying himself as they try not to trip over feet. He is very aware of the fact that Enjolras’ hand stays there just a moment too long, well after they’ve made their way out of the concert hall._

__

__

He turns to Grantaire in the cool night air, the swell of violins replaced by the sounds of California traffic. “So,” he begins, giving Grantaire a quizzical look. “What now?” 

Eponine's phone vibrates in her lap. She doesn't have to check to know who it is. 

GRANTAIRE: the concert was boring so we ditched  
do u know of any enjolras-friendly spots to chillax and be gay in  
ask cosette too  
leave out the gay part tho 

EPONINE: idk maybe u should try the lipgloss thing 

She turns off her phone, pleased with herself. Cosette, who still has her arm draped around Eponine like it's normal and natural and regular, _just a couple of friends,_ looks up at her. “Was that R?” 

Eponine nods and rolls her eyes. “I guess they ditched the concert,” she relays to her. 

Cosette hums softly. “I hope their date is going well,” she says casually. 

Eponine gapes. She really doesn’t know what that means. Cosette is probably joking, probably just teasing her brother, but Enjolras isn't actually here, is he, and she says it so passively that Eponine almost doesn't catch it. She waits for Cosette to expand, or maybe laugh and say _‘only kidding!’,_ or offer any helpful information at all because _what._ Cosette does not expand, and Eponine is somehow both annoyed and uplifted that she’s been rubbing off on her so much. 

“Date?” is all Eponine can manage. Cosette just nods, suddenly very interested in the play. “Um. I don't think it's um. It's not a date, I don't think,” Eponine clarifies. 

Cosette turns to her and furrows her brows. Innocently, she asks, “It's not?” Eponine shakes her head furiously. 

“Hmm. I thought Grantaire liked him,” says Cosette, glumly. She adds, “Like-liked him, I mean. Disappointing.” 

This does _not_ help Eponine. “He - um. That doesn't really matter unless, uh - You really thought it was a date?” 

Cosette shrugs as best she can with her arm still around her, and Eponine can feel her fingers tapping lightly on her shoulder. _Cosette taps when she’s nervous,_ she realizes. 

“Did you think - um. Is this. Um,” stammers Eponine. She is trying to be bold and she is trying to be casual and she is mostly trying to stay _calm, cool, and collected._ She is definitely failing at most of that. “Is this a date?” 

There's a twinkle in Cosette’s eye as she grins. “Isn't it?” 

__What._ _

Eponine is trying to think of something to say when suddenly the audience is clapping and all the sweaty little seventh-graders are bowing in a line on stage. When Gavroche bows, Cosette gives him a standing ovation and Eponine watches him beam. 

“Your brother is so cute,” laughs Cosette, not at all affected by the interaction they just shared. 

Meanwhile, Grantaire is quite sure he's a young genius. After Eponine proved surprisingly unhelpful (actually, maybe Grantaire should have seen it coming), he furiously wracked his brain for any _Enjolras-friendly_ establishments in the area. Like a beam of light, he remembered the old second-hand bookstore he used to work at, owned by a nice old man that pretended not to notice him stealing art books. It was only a few blocks away from the concert hall, which meant that the two of them would share a hopefully pleasant walk. 

The hope was surprisingly not displaced. “Sorry that was so… _pretentious,”_ apologizes Enjolras, who looks very out of place in his polished suit and patent leather shoes clicking down the grimy avenue. He doesn't seem to mind, though, or even notice. 

“I mean, the orchestra sounded great, probably,” Grantaire assures him. “I’m not really a music expert though, maybe you really _should_ have brought Jehan, actually,” he adds with a nervous laugh. 

Enjolras just hums. “No, I’d rather be here with you.” Grantaire doesn’t know how to respond, so Enjolras continues. “I guess the philharmonic was a bad idea though, like how a movie is uh, yknow, a bad first date, um.” 

Grantaire decides that he actually really hates Enjolras, because he’s the only person who can say something that effectively shuts him up. He hates not knowing what to say. 

“Not that this is, uh, yknow,” and Grantaire is reminding himself _right, of course it's not,_ but Enjolras adds, “I just wanted to have a nice night with you, and, uh, we couldn't even talk, which is. Uh. Counterproductive.” He enunciates _counterproductive_ extra sharp on all the consonants, like it’ll make the whole thing sound more coherent. Grantaire finds himself thinking about how cute he is when he’s flustered, but adamantly refuses to mention to Enjolras how cute he finds him for the second time that night. 

“Right, weirdo,” he says instead, like Grantaire isn't actually the weirdo. “Anyway,” he sighs, as they approach the bookstore. It’s a real hole-in-the-wall type place, a neon sign flashing _open!_ against the yellow light that dimly illuminates the store. Grantaire suddenly realizes that it doesnt actually look as impressive as he thought - actually, it looks kind of crummy - but Enjolras has this stupid dorky smile. People that read are so lame. 

Grantaire opens the door for Enjolras with exaggerated politeness and watches him eagerly step in. Against his will, a traitorous part of his brain yells out _‘cute!’_

Waiting for Gavroche in the school's stuffy theatre classroom, Eponine has no idea what to do. She realizes shamefully that, for possibly the first time, she is embarrassingly unprepared for this turn of events. Because she’s on a _date._ With _Cosette._ Because Cosette _wanted to._ She wonders if she’s actually in a coma, vividly hallucinating, and Cosette is the name of some nurse or something. If she’s hallucinating, and none of this is real, might as well make the most of it. Might as well take advantage of the situation. Bitterly, Grantaire's mocking voice floats through her head. _‘What do you have to lose?’_

She realizes she hasn't actually spoken more than a few words to Cosette since the play ended. She also realizes that her arms are crossed very tightly, like she's mad. Cosette is watching her intensely. 

Eponine lets out a defeated sigh. She thinks of Grantaire _(fucking Grantaire),_ and holds her breath, because she knows what she has to do. Shitty cable TV porn. 

“Um,” she turns to Cosette, who perks up immediately. “I um. I’m wearing a new lipstick.” _Oh my god, oh my god._

“Oh,” says a confused Cosette, stealing a glance at her lips. “It looks really pretty, ‘Ponine.” _Oh my god, oh my god._

Eponine will _not_ stutter. She will _not_ back out. She will remain cool, calm, and collected. This is going to be a magical _fucking_ moment, a YA coming-of-age movie moment, a Molly Ringwald moment, so long as she can help it. She really hopes she can. She gulps. 

_“Um,”_ she begins, and internally scolds herself on immediately stuttering. “Do you... want a swatch?” _Oh my god, oh my god,_ Eponine is internally cringing because that's just about the corniest thing she’s ever heard, much less said. And Cosette must notice Eponine wince because she starts laughing and Eponine can only join her.

_Really,_ she thinks, in between giggles, _I should have seen this coming, because you should never take advice from Grantaire, and also maybe a kiss is a lot to ask on a first date, and-_

And Eponine doesn’t have time to think much else because its _Cosette_ leaning in, cupping Eponine's face that fits shockingly well in her hand, and Eponine can feel something soft on her lips, and _oh my god, oh my god, Cosette is kissing me, holy shit._

Not knowing what to do with her hands, she settles them on Cosette's waist and revels in how warm she is. She’s never read a kiss like this in a romance novel before (not that Eponine is particularly fond of Danielle Steel) - every kiss she’s ever read about has been _fervent_ or _desirous_ or _their mouths just fit together, star crossed lovers, the whole world stops,_ and, okay, maybe the whole world _does_ stop, but this just seems so much _nicer_ than that, Eponine decides. Because Cosette’s hand is on Eponine's neck and it kind of tickles, and the two of them are smiling against each other like idiots, and their noses keep bumping, but suddenly Eponine cannot imagine kissing Cosette any other way. She feels like she’s in high school again, having her first kiss, except instead of drunk kissing a greasy 15 year old she's kissing Cosette, _she’s kissing Cosette._ At first, Eponine can only describe the feeling as _getting the girl,_ until she realizes that actually _the girl is getting her,_ and also that Cosette actually likes her as much as Eponine likes Cosette. It’s the end of the world. Gravity has reversed. The impossible has happened. 

And then the impossible stops because Gavroche is awkwardly tugging on Eponine's sweater. “‘Ponine, oh my god, you’re embarrassing me,” he’s whining. Cosette is red. Eponine, as usual, erupts into laughter. _Shitty cable TV porn,_ she decides, _does actually have the solution to everything._

Enjolras is studying political science titles and Grantaire is studying Enjolras. The whole store smells dusty (probably because the whole store is covered in a layer of dust), but it feels comfortable, like an old lady’s house, and thankfully Enjolras doesn’t seem to mind so Grantaire doesn't, either. 

He quickly pulls a thick, dark book from the shelf, flips to the title page, lingers on it, then puts it back just as quickly. Enjolras is weird, whatever. 

“Do you _only_ read politi-sci?” Grantaire asks, and then wonders if it was rude of him. 

Enjolras looks up, embarrassed, and shrugs. “I mean,” he considers, “not _really.”_

“That’s just dork code for _‘I totally do,’”_ teases Grantaire. “You’re allowed to have a _little_ fun, you know.” 

“Fine, I’ll bite,” he says, amused. “What do _you_ read, R?” and Grantaire gives him a grin and nods his head in a silent direction to follow him. 

<“I didn't actually bring you to this store to just watch you look at books in silence,” Grantaire says on their way to the art section. He doesn't need to look at Enjolras to know he’s embarrassed. Grantaire is a special talent for embarrassing Enjolras. When they reach the shelf violently labelled ART - RENAISSANCE, he gives Enjolras a soft _‘ta-da!’_

Enjolras scans a few titles. “You know,” he says after a moment, “I don't, like, _know_ a lot about art. I go to the museum Cosette works at when they get a new exhibit, but that's just because she gets free tickets, but um, I never, like, _get it.”_

Grantaire beams at this. He pulls a tall, thick hardcover from the shelf. “I guess I’ll just have to be your personal artistic expert this evening, mister.” 

Enjolras considers him a bit too long. “Or,” Grantaire offers, dropping the act, “they have a backroom full of hardcore porn that might be more interesting.” He waggles his eyebrows in a particularly delightful manner. Enjolras rolls his eyes. 

“Fine, sir, tell me all about it,” He lets up. Grantaire wears a triumphant grin. 

The drive to Cosette’s apartment is much more awkward now that Gavroche is riding with them. Eponine is quite sure he’s never seen her kiss anyone (or even express romantic affection towards anyone), much less a girl. This could quite possibly be the worst way to come out to your middle-school aged little brother. Whoops. 

“So,” starts Gavroche, and Eponine doesn’t need to look at him to hear his shiteating grin. “Is this the one you keep calling R about?” Bold words for someone who relies on Eponine as a ride home. Cosette laughs sweetly and gives Eponine a soft look. 

“Careful, ugly,” Eponine warns. “And _her name_ is Cosette." 

“Be nice to my sister, Cosette,” he says, half-joking, “or _else.”_ Eponine knows _’or else’_ could be anything between TPing her apartment or cold blooded murder. 

“You were a really good scarecrow,” offers Cosette. “Like, those other kids must have been embarrassed of themselves.” 

Gavroche seems won over. “She’s nice. Nicer than _you,_ ‘Ponine. And she smells nice. Very nice perfume, I think. Probably expensive. Hey, Cosette, you know ‘Ponine wears vanilla as perfume -” 

_“Shut up,”_ Eponine interrupts. Fuck, she had just started dating Cosette and now she’s gonna lose her because she’s poor. _All good things must come to an end,_ she muses. 

“I like vanilla,” is all Cosette says, giving Eponine a confused look. Gavroche goes on about how itchy his costume was for the rest of the ride. 

When they finally reach Cosette’s apartment, Eponine walks her up like a good girlfriend. It still feels weird to think of herself as that, but whatever. Before she says goodbye she hesitates and remembers the burnt out lightbulb in her bathroom, the dirty mirror. _Con,_ she thinks bitterly. _Maybe I should just rip off the band-aid. Hey! I’m super poor and my house is gross. Wanna kiss?_

She sighs. “Listen, Cosette, sorry about Gavroche, y’know, I um, basically raised him, because our parents are never home,” she begins, using her best _my parents are frauds and it’s basically up to me to provide for us_ voice. “And that, uh, takes um, a lot of _money -”_

“Why are you apologizing?” Cosette interjects. Eponine thinks for a moment. Why _was_ she apologizing? She’s never exactly been ashamed of coming from a working class family, but she also doesn’t tend to let people know, either. 

“Um. I just wanted to let you know that um. I live with my parents - well, I live in their house, they're never actually in it - and uh, I shoplift all my jeans, and I’m here on scholarship, and -” 

“Okay,” blinks Cosette. “I, um, I know? R kind of already let me know. But I don't really know why I would care anyway, uh - unless you’re asking for help! I can totally help! If Gavroche, uh -" 

Eponine is shaking her head. “No, don't worry about that - well, if you want to, um, sure, but uh, that's not - _you already know?”_

“Yeah, uh. Grantaire mentioned Gavroche and your parents, and um, why we usually ride the bus, um. A few weeks ago. Actually.” 

Eponine is taken aback. _She knew. And she asked her on a date anyway, and she kissed her. Because she likes her._

_“Oh.”_

“Yeah.” And Eponine is smiling because _she knew and she asked her on a date and she kissed her._

"Can, um. Can I kiss you again? Is that, uh, cool?” She asks Cosette. Cool, calm, and collected. And Cosette is smiling and nodding very quickly, so Eponine presses her lips to hers in a brief, chaste kiss. 

Still, Gavroche rolls down his window and yells _“Get a room, lesbians!”_

“Anyways, St. Sebastian is basically a gay icon,” Grantaire says, wrapping up his 10 minute rant about how St. Sebastian looks like a muscle twink in just about every painting he’s been depicted in. Enjolras is very amused. He’s never seen Grantaire so passionate. 

He considers the picture Grantaire is referencing. “It _is_ undeniably pornographic,” he agrees. Grantaire runs a frenzied hand through his hair. 

“Exactly! And, like, he has one little loincloth draped cleverly over his crotch, are you kidding? And, and - _there aren't even any arrows!”_

Enjolras leans back in the worn out loveseat they've been sharing and laughs at Grantaire's distressed expression. 

Grantaire can't help but watch his head tip back, his torso elongate and his eyes shut in glee. Enjolras is so _serious_ all the time, never letting himself relax or just have a fun time - he reads _politi-sci_ in his spare time, for fucks sake. And Grantaire is wild - well, maybe too wild - and likes to pull that part of Enjolras out of him, like a magician with a colorful array of scarves. Enjolras’ tie is undone around his neck. _Wild._

He wants to sit in this loveseat with Enjolras for the rest of time, ranting about art history and making him forget about _capitalism_ and _stern letters to state senators_ and _gerrymandering._ And, okay, maybe that's not good, but Grantaire is first and foremost a hedonist (actually, he’s first and foremost madly in love with Enjolras, but what's the difference?) and he’s sure he’s never seen Enjolras so much as crack a smile while writing _a stern letter to a capitalist state senator about gerrymandering._ He can't help it, okay? He really, really wishes he could. 

Grantaire is still staring at Enjolras, his tongue between his teeth (it feels nice to slip into bad habits around him), and he feels like such a performer. He likes to make him laugh, he likes to feel liked, _okay,_ and he would just about say anything to accomplish that. He wonders how good Enjolras is at translation, if he knows that when he says _“You've got a stick up your ass, Enj,”_ he really means _“I love you tons, sorry,”_ except that much is hard to pronounce. 

Grantaire watches Enjolras turn to him, elbow propped up on a cushion, holding his head. The yellow light makes his golden hair look extra golden, like a halo, and there is a sheen on his face that makes him glow. A wide, genuine smile settles on his face. “You’ve got a stick up your ass, Enj,” he finds himself saying. Thankfully, Enjolras doesn't scowl how Grantaire thought he might, just furrows his brows. “What makes you say that?” 

Grantaire is not capable of telling him what makes him say that. “If you didn't, you wouldnt have immediately headed to the fucking _politi-sci_ section,” he lies. 

Enjolras’ hand is creeping painstakingly slowly towards Grantaires, which rests between them on the couch. Enjolras must be his most at ease when in a bookstore, which is the only explanation Grantaire can come up with. He feels their fingertips brush, and it's so _high school,_ all of it, stolen glances and heart palpitations and blushing and chaste brushes of flesh, and Grantaire wants nothing more than to kiss the dimple on Enjolras’ cheek. Fortunately (or, perhaps, unfortunately), he has the capacity to be disciplined, on occasion. For once, Enjolras isn't, because his hand has traveled further, up the length of Grantaire’s forearm, resting lightly on his elbow.

Trying to save himself from complete-self destruction, Grantaire adds, “You, uh, _you’re very intense.”_

Enjolras makes a humming noise and Grantaire _swears_ his eyes dart down to his lips, but he can't be sure because they're back up to his eyes just as quickly. “I think I’m getting better,” he says, soft as anything. 

That's definitely not an innuendo. It’s not even really suggestive, and to call it a flirt was indubitably a reach. Grantaire swoons anyway and leans into the loveseat cushion. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Enjolras murmurs, hand tracing a button on Grantaire's shirt. He doesn't mention it. Neither does Grantaire, but he can’t just ignore it, either, so he sneaks a peek down so he can remember it later, during some odd hour of the night. A curl of hair falls into his eyes, but to push it out of the way would break whatever _moment_ they were sharing. Was this a _moment_? 

Enjolras’ smile deepens, and he bites his lip, hand traveling swiftly to tuck the strand behind Grantaire’s ear. Grantaire feels like he might actually die, right then and there. _Oh my god, oh my god._

“Your hair wouldn’t fall so much if you actually did something with it,” teases Enjolras, still twirling a coil of hair around his finger. “I could probably teach you some things about that.” 

_Its hair. It's _not_ suggestive, Grantaire reminds himself. _He’s just making fun of my shitty hair.__

Enjolras’ hand has moved to the nape of Grantaire’s neck _(he should have been a pianist with hands like those)_ and he has lifted his head off of his hand so that he's suddenly very close to Grantaire. In some awful karmic punishment, Grantaire hears Eponine’s voice ring in his ears: _‘What if Enjolras leans in a little too close, huh? What stupid quip are you going to bark then?_

__

__

Grantaire can only make a confused noise in response. 

“Do you want me to?” Enjolras breathes out innocently, so quiet that Grantaire can barely hear it over the buzz of the overhead lamp. “To teach you?” 

Grantaire wishes he had a wider vocabulary, with better, more impressive words, like _god, yes,_ or _please, would you,_ or _I wish you would,_ but he can do little more than just open his mouth in confusion, and, okay, Enjolras _definitely_ just stole a glance at his lips. Enjolras is so close now that Grantaire can feel the heat of his skin radiate off of him, can feel his other hand on his _thigh, holy shit,_ and - 

Grantaire’s pants buzz and with a start, he jumps off of the couch, breaking whatever moment they just shared and leaving him forever to wonder _what the fuck all that was._

He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket with sweaty, shaking hands. 

EPONINE: AHHHAHHHA  
R  
R  
OH MY GODD  
WE KISSED BRO  
I DID THE LIPGLOSS THING  
IT WORKED  
MAYBE U SHOULD DO IT??? 

Grantaire stares down at his phone in bitter frustration. He can taste the irony of it all like a knife on his tongue. Enjolras’ hand is no longer on his thigh, his other hand no longer in his hair - the moment is gone, ruined, and it’s not coming back. Unfixable. _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ is all he can manage in his head. He feels something hot and wet pulsing in the center of his face and he’s not really sure why he suddenly wants to cry so much. He feels like a child throwing a tantrum, but he cant help it, because really, _what the fuck was all that?_

He looks up at Enjolras, who is sitting much more stiffly, poised on the loveseat (Grantaire thinks he would never like to hear that word again). He gives Grantaire an expectant look. “Its, uh, Eponine,” he says to him, because words are hard right now. “It's about uh… Cosette.” 

Grantaire can’t describe what exactly changed in Enjolras’ expression but all of the sudden he looks sour and, honestly, kind of sad. “Oh,” he says, and Grantaire doesn’t really know what's happening right now, but before he can ask Enjolras adds, “it’s getting pretty late, I think. We should, um. You know,” and Grantaire nods, and keeps nodding, because he’s still thinking _what the fuck was all that?_

On their way out Grantaire gives his old boss a quick thanks, and the two of them walk very silently past the concert hall back to Enjolras’ car, after which they drive very silently to Grantaire’s apartment, exchange very minimal goodbyes, and suddenly Grantaire is left very cold at his apartment door. Really, _what the fuck was all that?_


	7. Chapter 7

Grantaire is lying on Eponine's bed a few days later, studying the popcorn ceiling. He’s been stuck in a perpetual state of bitterness since the not-date. Eponine, on the other hand, has been the most bubbly she’s ever been (not that you’d be able to tell - happy Eponine is only _so_ happy). She’s describing the kiss how a teenager might describe it in their diary, burying her face in her hands and erupting in the occasional embarrassed laugh. She must have finished at some point, though, because suddenly she’s sitting cross legged next to him.

“Is this about the thing in the bookshop?” Eponine asks, annoyed. “Because -”

_“I don't want to talk about it,”_ Grantaire replies quickly. But actually, he kind of does, because he shuts his eyes tight and says, “Oh my god, I really, honestly thought he was gonna, yknow,” he recounts, refusing to say the dreaded word _kiss_ like it’s some taboo swear. 

“He totally was,” she assures him, “there’s literally no other way that could have played out.”

“Unless your best friend texts you in the middle of it, actually, _because that's the way it played out, ‘Ponine.”_

“Well _I’m sorry,”_ she snaps back, and then “I really, really am,” because she is. “I just… you haven't even tried texting him since then? You can’t just avoid him forever, R.” 

Grantaire groans because he _knows that_ but that's a problem for Friday Grantaire, when he meets with Les Amis again. Or he could just not go, which sounds more and more enticing with each passing minute. 

“But I don't _want_ to,” he whines. 

“Have you considered, just, like, talking to him? Saying words to him? Acknowledging it?” She asks exasperatedly. Grantaire makes a face at that. He knows that he _should_ and that that's probably the best thing to do _(hi, Enj, I’m in love with you - actually I’ve been in love with you for years, sorry about what happened two days ago, and also leave me alone forever so I can be at peace, thanks)_ but it's really _hard_ and Grantaire can't imagine a whole confessing-in-the-rain scene with Enjolras. He doesn’t really even know what he wants to say to him - _I love you_ seems too bold, _What the fuck happened two days ago_ seems too brash, and anything in between seems pathetic. Whatever. Be in love with Enjolras forever and then die, it seems. 

“I really think that maybe if you just _talk to him_ things won't be as bad as they seem.” She hesitates, and then adds, “Cosette said he’s been in ‘a mood’ since the not-date.” That word is starting to feel less fun and convenient and more like a personal jab at Grantaire. 

“That makes two of us, I guess,” he mutters. 

Eponine gives him the irritated sigh of a mother. “R, you’re being pathetic and not even in a cute, pitiable way that I would maybe understand. Now get off my bed because I’m having a mall date with Cosette and we’re gonna steal from Claires.” 

He scrunches up his nose. “Claires?”

She shrugs. “Love has changed me, I guess.” 

Grantaire tries to watch a documentary when he gets home. It’s something about welding and fire and steel (or maybe iron), but he can't pay attention to it because his mind keeps wandering back to Enjolras’ hand on his thigh. _His thigh._ Thats, like, peak porn material. Shitty table TV porn.

Grantaire lets out a cathartic, frustrated noise because it seems that every time he thinks _just maybe, perhaps, possibly_ Enjolras could _somehow_ have a smidge of a crush on him, he goes and fucks it up and suddenly they're not talking again. Grantaire tries to remember what made Enjolras go silent. His phone? Cosette? Eponine? Does Enjolras just have a personal vendetta against texting? If that was the case, Grantaire would probably throw his phone in the garbage and not think twice about it. Probably revert to romantic letter-writing and carrier pigeons. 

Suddenly, Grantaire finds himself angry. It’s shocking, because Grantaire is never active or passionate about anything, but he becomes very embittered very quickly. _It's not fair,_ he thinks resentfully, _Eponine gets her happy fairytale ending and some John Hughes style first kiss scene and I just get blueballed in a musty bookstore. And not even in the porn section._

He can envision the pathetic future vividly - Grantaire, stealing yearning glances at Enjolras; Enjolras, oblivious; neither of them mentioning it _(it),_ until it fades into an ugly ink stain in their past that Enjolras will eventually forget and Grantaire never, ever will. Because he can't. Because he kind of doesn't want to. _Be in love with Enjolras forever and then die,_ he tells himself. _Die without closure. Be in love with Enjolras forever and never get the satisfaction of rejection, the certainty of a firm ‘no.’_ For the first time, the thought horrifies him, because actually this whole wingman thing has made everything a hundred times worse. Because before, it was easy for Grantaire to believe Enjolras indubitably wanted nothing to do with him. Because before, Grantaire was so far away from Enjolras in every regard that to hope for anything was unthinkable - the certainty of impossibility was preferable to the uncertainty of _almost, maybe, perhaps._ Because now Grantaire has hope - _unfounded, disillusioned hope,_ he reminds himself, but _hope_ nonetheless and he just can't shake it no matter how hard he tries. Eponine's voice, clear as day, rings through his head: _“I do_ not _accept that,”_ and then, _“We have nothing to lose,”_ and for the first time Grantaire _gets it_ \- what could he possibly ruin now? What has yet to be desecrated?

_Fuck it,_ he thinks, because he’s slipping on his shoes and getting on the bus and arriving at Enjolras’ apartment, simple as anything. 

Well, _not really_ simple as anything, because Grantaire is standing shaky in front of Enjolras’ apartment (on his doormat that says _Egalité,_ in front of his red door - it would be funny, maybe, if Grantaire didn't feel like throwing up). He tries to compose himself. He fails. Time to text Eponine. 

GRANTAIRE: dude im at enjs house bc i was feeling spontaneous but im kinda losing the fire here  
send help

EPONINE: uh  
shitty cable tv porn???

Grantaire groans. He should get better friends. Actually, he should just be a better friend, because if he wasn’t such a shithead to Eponine when _she_ was nervous she would probably feel more inclined to help him. Karma. Whatever. 

He takes a few deep breaths and is about to knock on the door when it swings open. _Am I magic?_ he wonders, before he is struck with the awful reality: Enjolras has opened the door, just on his way out, and Grantaire is on his doorstep like a creep. _Shit._

Enjolras is wide-eyed, lips parted in surprise. “Um,” he says.

“Um,” Grantaire says.

“I didn't know you were coming over, sorry, I-”

“I didn’t tell you, actually.” 

“Oh,” Enjolras says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah,” Grantaire replies with uncertainty, and Enjolras must see him peer into his apartment because he’s opening the door wider and gesturing for him to come inside. He obliges.

He quickly runs through topics in his head because there's a million things he wants to say, but he just doesn't know _what_ or _how_ or - he takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. _First point of business,_ he thinks to himself in his best Combeferre impression, _is to make sure we’re alone._

“Where’s Cosette?” 

“She’s, uh, out. With Eponine. At the mall. I think,” Enjolras replies hastily. _Oh, yeah,_ Grantaire thinks, because he’s an idiot. Then he notices Enjolras’ sudden change in expression, from mildly-panicked to befallen. Before Grantaire can mention it, Enjolras says “Sorry about her, by the way.”

Grantaire wracks his brain trying to figure out what _that_ means, if maybe Cosette got into a horrible injury in the past few days that just happened to slip from Grantaire’s head, or maybe she’s been diagnosed with the plague - probably not. “What?” Grantaire asks, because, well, _what?_ “Did something happen?”

Enjolras studies him. “Uh. Did Eponine not tell you?” Grantaire doesn't really know what to say because if something happened with Cosette, Grantaire would definitely be the first person Eponine told, and if something happened with Cosette, then Eponine must know. “Tell me what?” 

Enjolras is visibly uncomfortable, _which would be funny,_ Grantaire muses, _in a different context._ “She and Eponine are, um. They’re dating.” 

Grantaire laughs, because _really? Enjolras thinks Eponine is keeping_ that _a secret from him?_ “Uh, I knew that much, weirdo,” he says. “Why are you apologizing for it?” And then a switch flips in Grantaire's head and he goes from confusion to horrified realization because _oh my god, he could not possibly think_ that, _could he?_

“Well, uh, I knew you two were um. _Close,”_ and before Enjolras can continue Grantaire interrupts him. 

“She’s a _lesbian,_ Enj.” 

Enjolras’ ears are pink. Grantaire is equal parts amused and mortified. _Cosette?_

“I _know,_ but I just thought that maybe, um, you still, uh, yknow -”

_“Oh my god, Enj, that is so fucking gross,”_ Grantaire says, because it is, because Grantaire would never chase a lesbian, because _is this really what ruined their not-date?_ “I'm not - I’ve never - _I’m not into Cosette.”_

He expects Enjolras to get defensive, or frustrated, or angry, but his face softens and he bites his lip and Grantaire swears something like relief washes over him. “Oh,” he murmurs, and his teeth are digging into his lip hard and he’s looking at Grantaire with something familiar in his eyes. “So, why did you…?”

Grantaire realizes then how it must have looked for Grantaire to have spent nearly every moment in the last month glued to Cosette’s side _(except when we were on our not-date and your hand was on my fucking thigh,_ he muses harshly), and, god, its all so stupid. It’s nearing theatrical, comedic, Shakespearean levels of ridiculous. Grantaire laughs a bitter, frustrated, almost manic laugh and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Because Eponine has been in love with Cosette for, like, _months,_ and I was her wingman - a pretty fucking good one, too, because they seem real fucking happy, don't they - and, Enj, have you ever noticed how much time Eponine’s been spending with _you_ recently?” Enjolras is taken aback by this because no, he really hasn't, he’s been a bit _preoccupied._

“Um,” he manages, and then, “What.” 

Another frantic laugh escapes Grantaire and he can feel it all slipping out of him, years of repressing all this bullshit finally coming back for him. Karma. 

“You really _never_ realized that every time I was talking up Cosette that Eponine was talking _you_ up? It never occured to you that maybe that was more than just a weird little coincidence?” He’s unable to stop at this point, pacing in front of Enjolras because he needs to keep moving, keep the energy up, or else it will all come crashing down. “God, Enj, you cant be that smart just to be _that_ stupid, you cant - you can’t really be that oblivious, can you?” He stops in front of him and looks him hard in the eyes. Enjolras is staring at Grantaire, something dawning on him. 

_“What are you saying, R,”_ he doesn't really ask so much as he demands. 

“I don't - _you tell me!_ You’re supposed to be the smart one, you - you had your hand _on my thigh,_ what the fuck am I supposed to make of that?” Enjolras goes pink. “Im saying that I’ve, like, had this stupid crush on you for, like, years, and you don't even -” and Grantaire can only punctuate it with a strangled noise. 

_“And right when_ I think maybe you don't absolutely hate me you get all _weird_ and won't even talk to me, and - _what?”_ He asks, because Enjolras is laughing, so wholly and genuinely that it doesn't even make noise, and Grantaire really doesn't know what's going on. 

“You think I hate you?” Enjolras manages between huffs of laughter. 

“Obviously,” Grantaire replies defensively.

Enjolras attempts to collect himself. He is mostly successful. “Oh my god, R, I don't - _I really, really like you.”_ Oh. “Like, a lot.” _Oh._

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

Grantaire thinks he’s getting pranked, that suddenly Enjolras is a dedicated fan of practical jokes. “I thought you hated me,” he tells him, because he did. 

“I thought _you_ hated _me,”_ laughs Enjolras, softly. Grantaire realizes that in the midst of his pacing he has ended up very close to him. Close enough that he can feel the heat pulsate off of Enjolras, and can read the lettering on his shirt. _‘Ethically Sourced.’_ Nerd.

“No,” Grantaire echoes his laugh, because Enjolras must be on Marius levels of oblivion. Then he realizes that, actually, _he's_ on Marius levels of oblivion. “I um, also really like you.” 

They are making eye contact. They are making pointed, unavoidable, intense eye contact. Enjolras tucks a wild curl behind Grantaires ear. Grantaire should really get better at haircare. 

“We should probably do something about that,” he smiles, and Grantaire smiles too because _Enjolras likes him and this is not a dream._ He is ready for his YA coming of age teen movie moment, his Molly Ringwald moment. Except, Enjolras doesn’t lean in. He keeps his hand on the side of Grantaire's face, but he doesn't lean in. And Grantaire realizes that he is going to have to be the one to lean in. _Fuck._ Shitty cable TV porn.

“Im, um, wearing lipgloss,” he offers. “Do you, uh. Want a swatch?” 

Enjolras confusedly laughs out a _“What?”_ because, no, Grantaire isn't wearing lipgloss, but instead of an explanation Enjolras gets something soft and warm against his lips and oh. Kissing. That's what this is. And then, the realization fully settling in, he thinks, _oh, kissing, that's what this is, I’m kissing Grantaire, Grantaire is kissing me._

His stubble feels surprisingly soothing on Enjolras’ clean-shaven skin, and he can't help but smile against him. Grantaire lets a hand creep up Enjolras’ torso, around his back, and he eases him closer. His hand fits in the small of Enjolras’ back like it’s supposed to, and it all just feels _right,_ like _why didn't I do this the first time I saw him,_ and Enjolras smells like coffee and fresh laundry and Grantaire is shutting his eyes tight, trying to remember it all perfectly. Enjolras’ hand has moved to rest at the nape of Grantaire’s neck, his thumb rubbing along his skin. 

When they pull away, Enjolras has this stupid dopey grin that Grantaire will definitely never forget. Grantaire’s still holding Enjolras around his waist, Enjolras still has his hands in Grantaire’s hair, and there's nothing to mention or avoid talking about because it's natural, it's normal, _it's fine;_ whatever goes unspoken does not go unacknowledged. Grantaire's lips are wet. 

“That was nice,” he murmurs.

Enjolras nods, and then asks, “Lipgloss?” 

Grantaire cringes inwardly. “Um. I heard it in a porno, I think.” 

An amused grin spreads over Enjolras’ face. “Can we do it again?” 

GRANTAIRE: PONINE  
PONINE  
THE LIPGLOSS THING WORKED

Eponine rolls her eyes down at her phone, and Cosette (in her lovely, recently-stolen flower crown from Claires) is peering over her shoulder to read it.

_“Fucking finally,”_ she mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> folks! thank you so much for reading!!!! i just wanted to say that this was literally the first les mis fic i ever wrote ([the fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25635139) i published before this one was actually written after this one), and the first time i've written fanfic in five years :^) i hope you had as much fun reading this as i did writing it!!! faith trust and pixie dust my hombres <3

**Author's Note:**

> say hello on [tumblr!](https://seravph.tumblr.com)


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